A Crime Too Far
by SylvieT
Summary: One event will change his beliefs and the course of his life for ever. A Grissom-centered fic with tragic consequences. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here we go again. Back to what I love best; angst. This story is set some time mid to late season six. A word of warning: there will be at least one character death in this story – at some point. All I can say at this moment in time is that it won't be Grissom. The story is mapped out – roughly – but remains a work in progress as I feed off people's generous reviews and ideas. Besides, inspiration may lead me to take the plot some unexpected way and I embrace that – as you may already know. If you like what you're reading – or not, please let me know in a review. :-) Thank you for giving the story a try. Sylvie.

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A Crime Too Far.

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"_It's the top of the ninth and it looks like the boys in blue are about to do it; this is history in the making, ladies and gentlemen. The Mets are two out and nobody on as Butcher steps up to the plate."_

Grissom literally sat at the edge of his leather couch, eyes wide with wondrous expectation. Totally riveted, he leaned over and set his empty Budweiser bottle onto the low table in front of him, reaching for a fresh one. He took a quick swig and without looking, put it down on the floor by his feet. He picked up the baseball bat lying next to him on the couch and gently began stroking it for good luck.

He was tense with excitement, nervous energy spilling out of him from his every pore. His left leg started to shake in involuntary spasms. Out of the blue, he stood the bat upright on the floor, propelling himself with it into a crouching position onto the couch. This was it. The moment he and millions of loyal Cubs fans had been waiting for sixty-five years. The moment of reckoning. He wasn't going to miss it for the world.

"Come on!" Cheering passionately at the televised game, he leaned back against the seat, bouncing up and down in time with the clapping of the crowd. If Sara saw him with his feet – albeit bare – on their brand-new couch, she would have a fit. But she didn't; she had gone out. Transfixed by the flicking images of Wrigley Park on the screen and pent up with unconsumed adrenaline he shifted forward, resting his chin on the well-polished wood of his bat, eyes glued to the television.

The stadium fell silent, expectant – and so did he. He lifted the bat off the floor, his knuckles white from gripping it too tightly. He slowly brought it up to his side and stood up on the couch, angling himself ready to take the winning swing. "Come on! Show us what you're made of. Come on, Cubbies!"

Hearing the familiar sound of Hank's paw scratching at the door heralding his and Sara's return from their run brought a huge smile to his face. That would teach her to cast aspersions against his team; the winning team.

His gaze flicked off the screen for a millisecond and he lowered the bat. "Sara, hurry," he called loudly over his shoulder so she could hear him through the door. Grinning from ear to ear he reached over to the table for another handful of potato chips. "You don't want to miss this. You're about to watch history in the making." He brought the food to his mouth and resumed his former stance ready to take the swing.

Generally, a few seconds after Hank's scratching at the door, he would hear the scraping of Sara's key into the deadlock, quickly followed by the clicking of eager paws on the hardwood floor headed straight for the water bowl in the kitchen. Then, he would feel Sara's sweaty arms wrap around him from behind, her flushed face nuzzling in his neck, hot ragged breaths blowing out of her parched lips sending tingles down his spine. Unconsciously, he smiled in anticipation.

Except, none of that happened. There was no scraping of Sara's key in the lock; no sweaty arms clinging to his chest or face nuzzling in his neck. There were no hot breaths sending shivers down his spine.

Grissom's smile died from his lips and he frowned, lowering the bat. He turned his head toward the front door and froze, listening. As he couldn't make out anything more than Hank's scratching at the door over the blast of the television, he quickly jumped off the couch, fumbling for the remote before muting the sound with an impatient click.

Instantly, Hank's scratching at the door intensified. It became incessant, impatient and pained. And then the scratching stopped altogether to be replaced by mournful whimpering. And then the whimpering stopped making way to loud, fast and frantic howling barks.

Grissom did a double take, still waiting for the door to open but knowing deep down that it wouldn't. "Sara?" he called again anyway. The laughter in his voice was long gone, replaced by mounting distress and fearful anxiety. A shiver of irrational dread coursed through his body and he dropped the baseball bat, tripping over his beer, knocking it over, in his haste to scramble to the door. He couldn't turn the latch and open the door fast enough.

Hank was stood up to his full height on his hind legs pushing against and scratching at the door. When he felt the door yield he started to bark frantically and fell forward onto Grissom almost knocking him over.

Grissom's heart was drumming loudly in his chest as he pushed against the dog to keep upright. "Hank? Where's Sara?" Grissom lowered the dog, crouching down to his level and giving him a good rub behind the ears in an attempt to calm the poor animal. He scanned the front porch, looking left and right and the yard directly in front of the house looking for Sara. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. "Has something happened? Has she injured herself?"

All sorts of possibilities flashed through his mind. Could she be limping home after twisting her ankle? It wouldn't be the first time. Could she have tripped over? Collapsed or fainted under the exertion? After all they had all been working long hours recently. He quickly dismissed that idea though; Sara was fit and she hadn't been gone that long. Somehow, he feared Hank's frantic behaviour heralded worse news. Could she have been hit by a car?

His finger caught on a sharp edge on the dog's collar and bending nearer he noticed that the leash fixing had broken off, pulled out of shape. When he checked Hank's thick neck more closely, he felt and saw blood there matted within the short coat. The wound on Hank's neck was raw, bleeding where the collar had chafed biting into the skin.

"Oh, God." Suddenly an auto collision was far more preferable than any of the horrifying scenarios now swirling in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut but the terrible sense of foreboding that flooded him prevailed. "No, no, no. This can't be happening," he muttered to himself.

He rushed back into the house and slipped his training shoes over his bare feet. He dashed down the steps to the kitchen and grabbed his cell and house keys from the counter. "Damn!" he cursed aloud catching sight of Sara's cell amongst the apples in the fruit bowl. He picked it up, shaking his head in disbelief, in shock before tossing it back down onto the counter angrily. He hesitated when he saw his car keys there but figured he would have more chance of finding her on foot. There were several cut-through that were inaccessible by car. Without a backward glance he slammed the front door shut and took off sprinting, following Hank which was already halfway down the street, impatiently barking him on.

"Come on, boy," Grissom said urgently reaching his side, "Did she go to the park? Did she take her normal route? Show me the way. Find Sara."

Noticing the dog take off toward the main road, he breathed a sigh of relief. _Hank knows where she is; he's going to take me to her._ It looked like she had gone to their local park after all. He flipped his cell open and pressed redial remembering that the last person he had spoken to was Brass. Phone glued to his ear, he sprinted off in pursuit of Hank.

_Come on, Jim, pick up! Pick up!_ "Jim? It's me," he barked into the phone breathing hard and without any preamble. "I need you to-"

"Wow! Is everything alright? Are you running?" Brass cut in with a disbelieving chuckle. Then he stopped short; this wasn't normal behaviour for Grissom. "Are you at a scene? I thought you had the night off."

Hank was hard to follow and Grissom struggled to keep up, dodging the few pedestrians, mail boxes and illegally parked cars on the sidewalk. Soon he was losing ground on the dog. Reaching the intersection with West Desert Inn Road, Hank slowed to a stop and doubled back toward Grissom, allowing the latter to make up the distance.

"Good boy," Grissom patted the dog on the head when he finally caught up to him. "I'm going as fast as I can," he added between ragged breaths. The traffic was heavy at this time of the afternoon and they had no choice but stop at the junction, pausing just long enough for Grissom to lean onto the traffic light post and catch his breath.

"Gil? You heard me?" Brass's muffled shout came through over the noise of the passing cars. "I just checked with dispatch. You're off tonight. What the hell is going on?"

Still waiting for the lights to change, Grissom brought the cell back to his ear. "Let me talk, will you?" he told Brass curtly. He paused, holding his chest, heaving hard. "Something's happened to Sara. She went for a run. Hank came back home on his own; he's injured."

_Sara?_ "Sara Sidle?" Brass exclaimed into the phone. _Sara and Hank? Home?_ "Hank, your dog? Gil, slow down, will you? You're not making any sense. Where are you?" He paused, desperately trying to put some order in the chaos this conversation was. "You think they could have been hit by a car?"

The lights were taking too long to change and Grissom was impatiently jogging on the spot. The burning in his throat subsiding a little, he surged forward onto the roadway intent on crossing the street regardless of the traffic. The loud prolonged horn of a speeding car startled him and he jumped back in fright. The black GMC SUV narrowly missed hitting him full on as it swerved wide into the middle lane, braking in a shrill squeals of smoking back tyres. His heart was beating in his mouth, loud and frenetic. Grissom lifted the hand holding the cell phone off the SUV's side and raised it at the driver, dazedly muttering a quick apology. The car directly behind the SUV beeped its horn and Grissom banged his fist on the SUV's side window a couple of time, rushing the driver along.

"Come on, buddy," he told Hank as he took off jogging across the street, only stopping for a second to avoid a speeding car on the other side of the roadway with Hank once more sprinting off past him.

"I don't know," he replied to Brass eventually, bringing the phone back up to his ear. He looked left and right for Hank and saw him doubling back over himself, looking for his master. He smiled and redoubled his effort, holding the stitch in his side with his free hand. He was panting hard, cursing for his lack of stamina and fitness, the tightness in his heaving chest all encompassing. God, how he wished he had taken Sara up on her offer to go jogging that day.

"_Are you coming with us, babe?"_

"_You kidding me? And miss history in the making?" A head shake coupled with a wide grin ensued. "It's our first night off together in ages. I've got all I need here," he'd said raising his beer to her. "A once in a lifetime Cubs game, beer and potato chips. What more could a man want?" He had smiled mischievously, apologising for his unabashed teasing with a shrug. "I'll cook you a nice celebratory chilli for dinner when you get back. How does that sound?"_

"_Devine," Sara had replied her voice dripping with sarcasm. But it went unnoticed. Grissom was already craning his neck around her trying to catch the action on the screen. "__Oh come on; are you blind? That was obviously a strike!"_

_Smiling, Sara had leaned in for a kiss but he had playfully batted her away, intent on not missing a second of the game. He didn't even take his eyes off the TV to acknowledge her slightly peeved "Well, we'll see you in a bit, then", only distractedly mumbling the parting words back to her as the door had banged safely shut behind her and Hank._

"Gil? Gil?" Brass's voice brought him back to reality. "You still there? I'm in my car," he heard Brass say. "I'll check with dispatch; see if they've had a call put in to them. Where was she headed?"

The further he ran the more his stomach twisted sick with worry. Grissom closed his eyes and fought the wave of nausea rising from the pit of his stomach. The intense burning in his throat was only matched by the throbbing aching in his heart. His running slowed down to a jog until he stopped altogether, bent over himself holding his sides, pressing hard to curb the sharp pain. He was panting, gasping painfully for every breath passing in his throat, fighting its way into his tight lungs.

But he couldn't stop. He just couldn't stop. What if she was hurt? What if she was lying there unconscious, undiscovered? Or worse?

He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, using the sleeve of his favourite Cubs shirt to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead, blurring his vision. When he finally spoke, his words came out in ragged pants. "I'm not sure," he croaked. "I'm following Hank. We're on South Durango, past St Christopher's. It looks like he's headed for Desert Breeze Park."

He looked up, scanning the street ahead for signs of Hank. "Shit!" he muttered and then to Brass, "I've lost him. I've lost Hank." He whistled the familiar whistle for the dog who seemed to reappear out of nowhere. "Good boy," Grissom whispered, glimpsing at the dog and setting off at a fast walk. He was absolutely spent. He locked his gaze onto the boxer and concentrated on the small form until he lost visual as the dog rounded the corner through the west entrance of the park.

"Jim? I got him. He's turned into the park."

Brass knew Grissom wasn't one to panic. The conversation still wasn't making a whole lot of sense but he couldn't ignore his friend's disarray and the urgency of the situation. Something was wrong; he was sure of that. "Gil, a unit's already on its way to your location. I'll check again with dispatch; see if an EMT team's been called out to your vicinity. We'll find her, Gil. She's probably-"

Grissom cut off the connection and slipped his phone into his Jeans' back pocket. He renewed his effort, tired footfalls pounding heavily onto the sidewalk. He had lost sight of Hank again but was pretty sure of where the dog was headed. Exhausted and parched, he was rounding the last corner into the main alley of the park, half-walking half-jogging when he heard Hank's frantic barking coming from his right. Alerted, he took a sharp right and narrowly missed running into a couple of strolling women chatting and laughing as they pushed their prams. He could only lift a weak hand in apology as he sprinted on, catching sight of his dog. The boxer had stopped half-way across a playing field, waiting for Grissom to catch up to him.

"Come on, buddy. Take me to her. Take me to Sara," he panted, overshooting the dog.

Hank barked and took off running headed to a more secluded part at the south end of the park. Carried by the last of his adrenaline, Grissom followed until Hank cut across another field toward some shrubs. He sprinted the last twenty yards to the still form lying face down on the grass, partly hidden by one of the bougainvilleas in full bloom.

From a distance she almost looked asleep.

Yet Grissom had no doubt. It was her. His Sara. And she wasn't sleeping. Fighting the rising bile, he slid down on his knees on the grass and gently called her name. He pulled her by the arm, turning her over, immediately freezing in his movements, tears welling in his eyes.

_No. No. No._ _Dear God, please no._

But as he prayed to god, he already knew. The life had slipped out of her. She was gone. The love of his life was gone – dead. He was too late.

Tears streaming down his face, he gathered up her limp body and hugged it to him tightly, beginning a gentle swaying motion. His shaky hand brushed the soft damp hair out of her face, out of her eyes with extreme delicacy and tenderness. His tears were now falling freely onto her face as he brought her cheek to his.

"No. No. No," he pleaded helplessly. "Sara, sweetheart, no. Please, don't leave me."


	2. Chapter 2

For an instant, a mere few seconds, it was as though time suspended and, motionless and kneeling, he clutched Sara tightly in his arms.

She was inert. To Grissom she looked peaceful – like she was resting. He saw past the blood, the bruises – the injuries. He saw past her messed-up clothing. All he saw was Sara – his Sara. Her features were smooth despite the drying blood coating them. Her long brown hair was messy, pulled out of its pony tail, saturated with blood – her blood, but to him it still framed her face beautifully. Her bloodied face was bruised and battered but again, he didn't see any of it. Her mouth was barely open but just enough for him to see the ghost of a shy smile gracing her lips. Tears still running down his face, his tightly-pinched lips instinctively curled upward and he smiled tenderly back at her.

The sound of distant wailing sirens soon broke the enchantment; police sirens not quite in sync with the ambulance's shriller squeal harshly bringing him back to the moment. His smile turned into a pained grimace as he fought to control the wave of emotions surging through him. He suddenly felt hot and light-headed. His head was spinning madly, his face contorting in pain as he struggled to breathe. Her blood was everywhere; covering the patchy dry grass around them, coating his hands, his clothes, the bright crimson red so overpowering it saturated his vision. He scrunched his eyes tightly shut but couldn't rid himself of the red hue behind his eyelids.

_Oh, Sara._

The sirens were fast approaching now. Without thinking, he quickly tidied her up, pulling her running top down to cover her stomach and her shorts and panties back up in a futile attempt to redress her. The bile rose up to his throat and he barely had time to turn away before he was violently sick on the grass by his side.

And that's when he felt her take the smallest intake of air, a soft pained gasp coming out of her lips, heaving her chest. Could he have been mistaken? He froze. Choking back a sob of immense relief, he turned back to her and saw some spit foaming at her mouth. "Oh my god, Sara." Breathing another sigh of relief he leaned over her, speaking directly into her ear. "Sara, I'm here sweetheart," he murmured. "I'm here. Don't try to move. Help is on its way."

He grabbed his phone, calling Brass. "South end of the park; near the kids' soccer pitch," he barked into the cell as soon as Brass had picked up.

It only took Brass, a squad car and the paramedics a minute to arrive, parking on a nearby playing field. Hank began to bark wildly at the vehicles, snarling at the men running toward them, protecting his owners.

"Easy boy. Easy," Grissom told Hank gently. "Come here," he patted the side of his thigh, calling the dog back to him. Behind him, he heard the muffled words of the paramedics as they dropped their heavy kits and the stretcher and soon afterwards felt Brass's strong arm on his shoulder.

Panting, Brass said, "Come on, Gil, give them room. She's in good hands."

Grissom looked up to his friend, eyes wide with a mixture of deep sorrow and fear, his face streaked with drying tears. "She's still alive," he whispered, rubbing his eyes with his bloody hands. The incredulity in his voice was heartbreaking. "I thought…I thought…"

Grissom didn't need explain as Brass instinctively knew what he had thought; Sara's visible injuries and the blood pool on the grass spoke for themselves and it was a miracle if she was still alive and breathing. He increased the pressure on Grissom's shoulder in a futile attempt at bringing some comfort.

Grissom nodded and very gently lowered Sara to the ground, taking great care with her head. Then he shuffled backwards on his knees relinquishing his hold of her to the paramedics. He looked up at them, his fear and the trust he was putting in their hands written all over his face, and allowed Brass to lead him a few feet away yet close enough that he could still see her, feel her and connect with her. He gently grabbed a still edgy Hank by the collar, pulling him back from guarding Sara before stroking him and mumbling to him affectionately.

"Miss, can you hear me?" the first paramedic asked, crouching over Sara, two well-practised fingers immediately finding the pulse point on her throat. He opened each of Sara's eyes in turn, shining his torchlight in them looking for a response.

"Sara," Grissom croaked, scrutinising the man's every move. He cleared his throat anxiously. "Her name's Sara."

The paramedic glanced up with a nod toward Grissom and addressing his partner, said, "She's breathing but unconscious and unresponsive."

Grissom watched as the first paramedic, Frank Esposito according to his nametag, appraised Sara's injuries. He acted quickly, his movement fluid, precise and controlled. He took longer over the head wound, inspecting it in great detail – a blunt force trauma, if Grissom was to hazard a guess – before sighing and shaking his head despondently. "She's bleeding heavily from the back of the head; lost a lot of blood already by the looks of it," he told his partner who was already assembling the portable heart monitor, and after asking him to prepare an IV of fluids and dress the head wound, he reached into the trauma kit for the surgical scissors.

"Sir, how long has she been out?" he then asked Grissom as he quickly cut off the thin fabrics of Sara's vest and bra, exposing her breasts and the black and blue bruising already forming on her abdomen.

The sight of Sara, exposed, soiled and beat-up, turned his stomach and Grissom averted his gaze, rubbing his eyes wearily as he tried to replace these ugly pictures obscuring his mind with memories of her enchanting beauty. But he just couldn't. However hard he tried he just couldn't. He couldn't rid himself of the bright crimson hues behind his eyelids.

Livid, he swallowed the sick feeling in his throat and forced his gaze back up. In a matter of a few seconds, his whole demeanour had shifted into that of cold detachment and deep-seated fury. His face had hardened, darkened, his eyes losing their softness, his jaw set and twitching nervously. "I don't know," he replied sombrely. "At least fifteen to twenty minutes. Probably longer."

The paramedic's gaze drifted to the pool of vomit nearby. "Did she vomit?"

"No- I don't think so," Grissom replied uncertainly. "That was me," he added in a whisper.

Frank nodded, already placing the electrodes over Sara's chest, before expertly fixing the wires hooking the cardiac monitor to them. The screen lit up immediately, showing the irregular peaks and dips of her heartbeat. "Her body temp's low and her pressure's down…"

Hearing the soothing sound of Sara's heart beating in her chest brought a little comfort to Grissom who looked over his shoulder and shared a look of with Brass. The police captain's worry was plain to see, etched deeply on his face and he let out a long drawn-out sigh. His radio crackled into life and he flinched at the interruption, scrambling for the device in his pocket. Cursing under his breath he moved away to take the call.

Grissom watched Brass for a moment before letting his gaze wander away from his friend and away from the actions of the paramedics. As he stared in the middle distance, for the first time he really took in his surroundings – their local park – a park where they had taken many a happy walk with Hank; a park where they had spend many an afternoon sat on the grass reading or simply taking in the sun; a park where Sara came at least once weekly for a run; a park where they had felt safe. For the very first time Grissom viewed the park with new eyes – CSI eyes, jaded eyes – closely picking up every detail as he would any other crime scene – except that of course, it wasn't.

Directly behind them, lay the row of bougainvillea shrubs that had been used to conceal Sara. To his left twenty feet away, he noted a hedge of _Rhaphiolepis indica__ — _Indian Hawthorn – bordering the outer perimeter of the field, cutting them off from view of the main body of the park and providing perfect cover for an attack. He sighed, closing his eyes and then smiled unconsciously as he realised why Sara would have come to this particular area of the park. It was breathtakingly beautiful. The shrubs were all in bloom; hundreds of small flowers turned toward the brilliant sun; their pungent smell, their bright colours were all-encompassing and would have attracted her to them like honey to a bee. He let out a long breath, shaking his head back to the present.

His gaze wandered back onto Sara, zooming in on her left foot, noticing for the first time that her running shoe was missing and that her white tennis sock was brown with a dusting of fine mud. He looked around for the missing shoe but couldn't see it. His brow furrowed in thought.

_She was dragged away from a primary scene onto this more secluded spot. Her attack did not take place here._

He scanned the grass surrounding them for drag marks. From his vantage point he couldn't see any and at that moment in time it never occurred to him to leave Sara's side and go and investigate more closely. He felt Hank shift position next to him and he instinctively moved his hand to give the boxer's snout an affectionate stroke. Hank lifted his head, placing it on Grissom's lap with a mournful whimper.

"I know, buddy. I know. She's going to be okay. They're doing the best they can for her."

_Hank would have fought to death to defend and protect her – one man could not both restrain him and attack Sara,_ he mused._ There must have been at least two assailants. _He looked down toward the dog, catching a glimpse of the broken leash fixing. _The leash! That's how they had to have contained him; they must have tied him to a post._

He glanced up again searching the middle distance for a post, a bench, anything that could have been used to tie the leash to. The loud beeping of Sara's ragged heartbeat startled him out of his thoughts and he quickly refocused his attention on her. The paramedics had an IV line running into her arm now; her head wound was dressed and her face was obscured by the breathing tube sticking out of her mouth. The second paramedic was moving the stretcher closer so they could load Sara onto it for transport when out of the blue the heart monitor's slow steady beeping turned into short frantic repetitive shrills alerting them to Sara's impending cardiac arrest.

Suddenly all thoughts of processing the scene deserted him as he watched Sara fight for her life.

"Cardiac arrhythmia; she's gone into VF," Frank exclaimed frantically. He took two plastic pads, placing one to the right of Sara's sternum below the clavicle and the other just below her left breast. Grabbing the paddles, he instructed, "Charge at 300 joules." Frank rubbed the paddles together, shouted "Clear!" and lowered them directly over the pads. Under the surge of electrical energy sent to regulate her irregular heartbeat, Sara's torso arched up abruptly toward the sky before plopping down heavily onto the grass.

_Come on, Sara. _"Again, 360."

"360 joules, ready."

_Sara love, fight._ _Hang in there. It's far too soon to give up. _"Clear!" Sara's chest lifted up off the ground, falling down limply with a soft thud. Frank looked at the reading on the heart monitor and sighed before repeating the procedure one more time. "Still in VF," he said afterwards, turning his gaze toward Grissom who, with each unsuccessful attempt at steadying her arrhythmia, had edged forward closer to Sara. He watched on helplessly, with wide disbelieving eyes, pleading and praying for her not to give up the fight and let go. Frank sighed and told his partner. "Give me five milligrams of adrenaline." A couple of seconds later, he instructed, "Charge at 380."

"Come on Sara," Brass muttered in anguish, echoing aloud Grissom's silent, heartbreaking pleas.

The second paramedic registered a look of surprise that Frank chose to shock her again, his movement slowing in hesitation. He was about to argue when Frank nodded toward Grissom silencing him. Sara was shocked one more time. Her heart seemed to respond to the drug that had been injected into her and returned to a weak yet steadier beat. But the reprieve was short lived. The shrill beeping that had ceased for a few seconds seemed to double in intensity to a deafening level.

"Cardiac arrest."

Frank immediately began CPR. "Come on, Sara," he muttered between breathy counting. "Don't do this to me. The sun's shining; it's a beautiful day." Two more chest compressions ensured. "Come on!" He then instructed his partner to charge the defibrillator again.

"Frank?" the latter said quietly but there was a silent wary caution to the tone of his voice. "Call it. There's no point – not with that type of injury to her head."

Frank hesitated and looked up. He watched Grissom for an instant with sad, resigned eyes and slowed his chest compressions. The single long sombre beeping of the heart monitor, announcing asystole, was piercing as it resonated loudly in Grissom's ears. Grissom was shaking his head at the paramedic, pleading with his eyes for him not to give up on her, that she was strong, that she would continue to fight if given the chance.

"Frank?"

Frank averted his gaze from Grissom, turning slightly away to nod to his partner.

"No, no, no," Grissom shouted heartbroken. "You can't give up on her. Surely, there's something else you haven't tried. More adrenaline-" he choked on his words as he watched the paramedic's forlorn shake of the head. Grissom's gaze darkened instantly and he surged forward, elbowing Frank out of the way and grabbing the paddles from their stand. The defibrillator was beeping again, fully charged, ready to deliver its next electrical surge directly into Sara's heart. Grissom placed the paddles over the pads on Sara's chest for the sixth time. "Fight!" he yelled. "Don't you give up! Don't you give up on me." Her body arched up one last time and slumped down again.

Grissom fell back on his haunches, paddles in hand, defeated. This was it. Completely crushed, he handed those back to Frank, unwilling to meet the younger man's gaze. Just when he had given up all hope, the long continuous beeping stopped to be replaced by the shorter, regular beep of a heartbeat. Grissom lifted two incredulous tear-filled eyes at the heart monitor and watched, hypnotised, the craggy line pattern of Sara's heart coming back to life.

Frank let out a short displeased breath. "Okay," he said, clearly unhappy at Grissom's desperate act. "She's back. We got sinus rhythm. That's as much as we can do for her here. Let's get her onto the stretcher and to Desert palm."

Grissom felt the relief wash over him and for a second was at loss as to what to do. He felt depleted, exhausted and tense and yet his CSI senses prevailed. "Wait!" he exclaimed, wiping his brow wearily. "Just wait…for a second. Will she be okay for just a second?"

"It's touch and go, Sir," the paramedic replied as he started prepping Sara for transport.

Grissom didn't wait for the paramedic's consent to proceed. He had already sprung back to his knees, lifted Sara's left hand form her side, examining it closely before turning it over very delicately. He felt his jeans pocket for his pen knife but remembered this wasn't shift and that he wasn't wearing his work clothes.

"Jim, have you got a pen knife – something sharp I could use to scrape under Sara's nails? I think she defended herself and caught a piece of her attacker."

Brass shook his head quickly and Frank reached into his trauma bag for a clean scalpel, ripped open the sterile envelope and handed it to Grissom, who had in the meantime reached over to grab a pair of latex gloves from the bag.

"They're going to wash down any trace evidence she has on her when they prep her for surgery, Jim," he explained quickly as he slipped on the gloves.

Brass nodded, taking out a clean handkerchief from his pocket, which he opened and held. Not wasting any time Grissom turned Sara's hand over and expertly eased the blade under each nail, scraping the dirt-looking residue onto the handkerchief. When he moved to her right hand, Sara's fingers were curled into a tight ball, knuckles white under the strain. Grissom gently prised them open, stretching each finger in turn repeating the procedure. When he got to her middle finger, a single diamond white gold stud earring fell out onto the white cloth.

"That's my girl," he said with a small proud smile directed at Sara. He briefly examined the item of jewellery and let out a breath before turning to give the paramedics a nod. They had already packed up their stuff and swiftly moved in, loading Sara onto the stretcher.

"Sara's ears aren't pierced, are they?" Brass asked. Grissom looked up, smiling and shaking his head. Brass nodded and like a magician seemed to pull a clear small evidence bag out of his jacket pocket. Shrugging at Grissom's enquiring look he said, "What can I say, I've learned from the best."

Grissom nodded, saying, "Get this to DNA, Jim, soon as you can." Brass carefully folded the handkerchief and slipped it into the evidence bag. The paramedics lifted the stretcher, headed for the awaiting ambulance. Grissom quickly rose to his feet, rubbing his sore knees and picked up the paramedics' heavy trauma bag before jogging his way to Sara's side, Hank and Brass following behind. As she was being loaded onto the ambulance he turned to Brass. "Jim," he shouted, "Call Catherine. I want her on this. I don't care how you do it but I don't want anybody else handling the investigation, alright?" he stared Brass in the eye meaningfully.

Brass nodded silently, his gaze shifting toward the paramedic shouting over the blare of the sirens for Grissom to get in. Grissom jumped aboard the rig, glancing at Hank pacing by Brass's feet.

"I'm taking Sara to the hospital, buddy," he told his dog. "You stay with Jim." Then he looked up at Jim. "He'll need to be processed too – his collar, it's-" but the paramedic's "Sir, we _really_ need to go," cut him up mid-sentence. He peered over his shoulder, nodding his acknowledgement. He pulled the doors of the rig toward him casting one last look at Brass, a look that seemed to beg him to do whatever was necessary to catch Sara's attackers, before slamming the back doors of the ambulance shut.

Brass stood, stunned, watching the ambulance depart. He was rubbing his face tiredly with his left hand, wondering where the hell to start, when he felt Hank's wet snout nuzzle the palm of his right hand. He looked down, shaking his head in incredulity and patted the dog affectionately. "You're the only witness to my scene, buddy. Where do I get started?" he asked him. "What the hell happened here?"

* * *

A/N: The next update will be after Christmas. Merry Christmas, everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

Brass stopped in his tracks when he saw Ecklie's tall silhouette striding toward him and let out a disgruntled breath; sadly the lab director wasn't quite the person he wanted to see. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the speed with which vultures always seem to happen upon tragedies, and finished helping his men secure the scene and keep the small crowd of bystanders contained. Only then did he acknowledge Ecklie's arrival.

"Ecklie, that was quick. The ambulance only left a short while ago."

Looking more than a little perturbed, the lab director rubbed his hand over his head, the paramedic's discarded paraphernalia on the grass catching his eye before turning to glance at the crowd of onlookers. He let out a long breath. "I was on my way back from the mayor's office when I got the call from dispatch." He shuffled his feet awkwardly and redirected his gaze onto Brass, shaking his head in disbelief. "How is she?"

Brass shoved his hands in his pockets and then shrugged his shoulders glumly. "They managed to bring her back but she never regained consciousness. She got beat up bad." His eyes were pained, his face reflecting a myriad of emotions as he recalled the events. "The BFT she took to the back of the head…" he let out a long despondent breath coupled with a shake of the head, "it's not good."

Ecklie gave a small nod in understanding. He lifted his hand to his face, his index finger nervously rubbing the area directly above his left eye. "Does Grissom know?" he asked. "Has he been notified?" He paused, frowning in thought. "He's off shift tonight, isn't he?" Brass nodded a cautious reply to all three questions but kept quiet. "If I recall correctly," Ecklie continued, "he only lives a few blocks away from here, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does," Brass replied with a sigh. "He…" He was going to add that Grissom already knew of the assault because he had been first on the scene but bit his tongue anticipating the deluge of questions such revelation would unleash, without even mentioning the potential repercussions for both Grissom and Sara's careers. Instead, he settled for a partial truth. "He…went in the ambulance with Sara."

Ecklie's face registered surprise, his brows lifting half-way up his forehead, his mouth pursing in careful consideration. "Well, that certainly was quick response on his part. I'm very surprised though," he mused thoughtfully, "that he didn't choose to stay and process the scene himself." Then he paused, reflecting. "Actually, it's probably a good thing he went with her. It'll be easier this way."

Brass arched a curious brow, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists in his pants pocket. That man was so infuriatingly insensitive; it made his blood boil. "Easier how?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I don't want him working this case or anywhere near it," Ecklie replied candidly. "He's far too emotionally involved with Sidle to keep a clear, objective head and lead this investigation."

Brass couldn't help himself from biting at the bait. "What do you mean 'emotionally involved', Ecklie?" he spat angrily. He glared at the lab director, his temper and frustrations getting the better of him.

"What?" Ecklie asked innocently noticing Brass's look and tone. He then shrugged his previous comments off replying, "Nothing," with a dismissive sigh. "It's just that he seems to find it hard to step back when it involves her, that's all. He's particularly protective," he concluded, recalling the insubordination incident the previous year and his and Grissom's subsequent altercation.

"No more than with the rest of his team," Brass retorted tetchily before taking a deep breath. This was hardly the time or the place to get into an argument with Ecklie; not when he still needed to convince the good old lab director to let Catherine and the team work the case.

Ecklie opened his mouth to retort but stopped, images of a buried, ant-covered Nick flashing through his mind. "You're right, Jim. I'm sorry."

"We all are," Brass said eventually with a sigh, "protective of them, I mean." He paused. "You're going to find it hard to find someone on the job objective about this, Conrad – within PD or CSI. Sara's well-liked and respected by all of us."

Ecklie closed his eyes, nodding his agreement. "Jim," he pleaded after a moment, holding up a placating hand realising he wasn't making friends with his insensitive comments, "I wasn't suggesting that she isn't respected or well-liked."

He was about to say something else when his gaze wandered toward Hank inside the crime scene tape. The boxer looked utterly miserable, completely lost with both his owners gone; he was lying on the grass, his head resting over his front paws whimpering at regular intervals. Ecklie frowned. "What's that dog doing there?" he asked with evident alarm that the crime scene was being contaminated. Then it dawned on him. "Is that Sara's dog?"

Brass looked over toward Hank. He thought carefully about his reply before giving Ecklie a curt nod of the head. "Yeah."

"Do you know if she has any family here in Nevada?"

Brass was taken aback by Ecklie's sudden compassionate tone. His anger dissipating, he replied, "No, she hasn't."

Ecklie winced and then nodded pensively; probably not relishing the thought of having to call Sara's loved ones to announce the awful news.

"Huh…don't worry, Conrad," Brass pre-empted, "I'll take care of both."

He then excused himself momentarily to acknowledge the arrival of more of his men. He handed Davis the evidence bag containing Sara's nails' scraping and asked him to take it back to the crime lab for processing straightaway. He had thought it wise in view of the situation to tag it with his own initials rather than Grissom's. When he was finished, he turned back toward Ecklie and found him cell in hand scrolling down the list of names in his phone.

"I've already called Catherine," he quickly said before Ecklie had time to place the call. "She and the rest of grave are on their way over now."

Ecklie scowled in irritation and slipped his phone back in his suit pocket. "Why didn't you call Brewer?"

"He's still over in Boulder City on that gang-related shooting. By the time he's driven back, logged in his evidence, it'll be night time and we both know in cases like these, evidence is time sensitive. I thought it best-"

"I don't like to be put in front of the fait accompli, Brass," Ecklie cut in, the annoyance apparent in his tone. "I'm not sure either whether it's such a good idea to have any of them investigate this case." He raised his hand and waved the issue off. "I'll sort it out with Catherine." He slipped his hand inside his pocket once more reaching for his cell. Flipping it open, he moved away, motioning to Brass that the conversation was over and that he would get back to him for an update.

_Ass!_

"Sir! Captain Brass!" Brass turned round startled by the urgency in Officer Mitchell's voice. "Come take a look at this!"

Brass rushed over to Mitchell's location. His back to Brass, the uniformed officer was crouching in front of an old wooden bench, obscuring what he had found. Brass approached carefully so not as to step over anything probative until he saw what appeared to be blood and blood spatter near and under one corner end of the bench. He sighed.

"Good work, Mitch," he said. "Tape this area off for CSI. They shouldn't be much longer."

Brass was talking to the crowd of onlookers, making notes of their names in his black notebook, asking whether anybody had seen or heard anything suspicious around the time of the attack when he caught sight of Catherine coming across the soccer pitch beyond. She was running, the heavy silver field case slung over her shoulder swinging by her side. She wore sweatpants and running shoes and judging by the lack of make up, the oversized sunglasses and the loose ponytail held in a CSI ball cap, Brass knew she had come straight out of bed after his fateful wakeup call.

"Jim, Jim!" Panting and ducking under the yellow tape she asked, "Do you have any news? Grissom's not answering his phone." The detective moved away from the crowd, shaking his head and Catherine followed him. She sighed heavily, scanning the faces behind the tape, giving herself time to compose herself before clearing her throat. "I don't suppose anyone's seen anything?"

"If only I was a dog whisperer," he muttered to himself. Catherine's face scrunched into a puzzled frown at his words. "But no, no one's seen or heard a thing," Brass replied. "They got plenty to say about the lack of policing in this neighbourhood though, about how it's quickly going downhill and how it's all the economy's fault. Apart from that…" he shrugged the rest of his sentence off.

"Okay," she said putting her field kit down by her feet. "So fill me in. What have you got so far?"

"Ecklie relented?"

"I don't think he had a choice. It was me or him. I don't think he's keen to return to the field anytime soon and certainly not for this case."

Brass nodded. "Good. I'm glad. Okay. So we got two scenes; Mitchell's found some blood spatter over there under the bench and blood on the bench itself," he said pointing at the newly taped off area directly behind them. He then did a ninety degree turn and nodded toward the area where Sara had been found, some twenty five yards away from the bench. Catherine removed her sunglasses, which she clipped to the V of her top and strained her gaze in that direction. "We got a secondary scene where Grissom found Sara, near those bushes over there," he continued keeping his tone professional.

"So _if_ the blood on the bench is Sara's, she was moved," Catherine mused to herself more than Brass. _More than one attacker?_

He nodded. "Might have got disturbed – wanted to conceal her…" Catherine pondered that thought and shook her head grimly. It didn't bear thinking about. "Also," Brass continued, "before the EMT's took her away to hospital, Grissom managed to recover some dirt under her nails and also a diamond ear thing she was clasping in her hand. Officer Davis is taking that evidence to the crime lab now."

Catherine smiled warmly on hearing Brass's words. "She defended herself. Good girl. Hopefully she's given us enough for Wendy to get a DNA profile of her attacker."

"Or attackers," Brass amended placing particular emphasis on the final 's' of attackers. Catherine dipped her head to the side anticipating Brass's explanation. "Well, I'm thinking; why would you attack a runner with a dog, a big boxer like Hank, on your own? It doesn't make sense."

Catherine suddenly looked very confused. "Jim, hang on. I think I'm missing something here," she said. "Hank is Grissom's dog. I thought he had come with him and left him behind when he took Sara to the hospital." She paused to take in what Brass had just said. "What was Sara doing running with him?"

"I don't know and it's beside the point," Brass answered, realising that he wouldn't be able to keep a lid on Sara and Grissom's relationship – or whatever it was – for very long. He paused. "Whoever attacked Sara had to know how to handle and restrain Hank in order to have the better of her. We all know she can defend herself."

Catherine nodded, silently taking in all the information Brass fed her with her usual aplomb. A preliminary image of what might have happened was already forming in her mind. She also knew that the police captain was holding back on her and she was beginning to understand what it was. She nodded her head again, indicating for him to go on with the rest of his brief.

"Besides," he continued, "robbery's unlikely to be the motive here; she wouldn't have been carrying anything valuable on her, not if she's out running."

Catherine pursed her face, swaying it from side to side in disagreement. "Well, I'm certainly not going to rule anything out Jim."

"I know. I know that," he added with a sad smile. "I was just passing on an observation."

Realising that Brass was as upset as she was about Sara's attack and just anxious to cover all his bases, Catherine smiled and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, which she then squeezed. "How was Grissom?" she asked meaningfully.

Brass shrugged in uncertainty, choosing his words carefully. "Shaken and upset," he shrugged again, hesitating to speak the truth. The words crushed, scared to death and devastated certainly a more accurate description of the emotions he had seen written all over his friend's face. Instead he took in a deep breath and left it at that. Grissom's business was just that and if the CSI supervisor and Sara had wanted the rest of them to know about their relationship they would have told them.

"Jim, you got to level with me here. Is there anything you're not telling me?"

Brass sighed looking uncomfortable and hot under the collar. "Relevant to this case? No," he snapped showing his exasperation. Then he closed his eyes wearily and shrugged his shoulder at Catherine, relenting. "I don't know either Catherine, all right? All I know is that I found Grissom slumped over Sara's body. He was clutching her to him and he was-" he took a deep breath, "he thought - I thought -" Moved by his emotions he choked on the rest of his words and was unable to finish his sentence. "The rest I've already told you about." He sighed and turned away, muttering, "We got work to do; I best get back to canvassing the area."

Catherine nodded feeling saddened she had caused Brass more pain and heartache with her probing. She picked up her field kit and headed toward Officer Mitchell guarding the bench. "Mitch," she said sombrely, greeting the officer with a nod and a pinched smile.

"Catherine," he replied. "Any news on Sara?"

Catherine shook her head before crouching down near the bench a frown appearing on her face. She studied the directionality of the blood spatter and the dry blood crusting the corner of the bench. _More gravitational than splatter,_ she mused. She opened her kit to get her camera. She took a few shots in quick succession, diligently documenting every possible angle. She would have to wait until DNA analysis of the blood to know if it was a match to Sara's but although there was nothing jumping at her linking this scene to the secondary one that was all she had to work with so far. She was reaching for a swab to collect a sample of the blood when Nick arrived.

"I came as soon as I got your text," he panted. "I just can't believe it, Catherine. What was she doing running over this side of town anyway? She lives miles away." The distress in his voice was heartbreaking. Catherine turned, straightening up and gave Nick a small I-don't-know facial shrug. "What happened?" he asked anxiously before she had time to speak.

The nightshift assistant supervisor quickly brought him up to speed. Nick listened intently, his eyes already busy scanning the surrounding crime scene, only punctuating her words and observations with occasional nods of the head or pertinent questions. When she got to the end of her account, he brought his sad gaze back to her. "You think this is Sara's blood?"

Catherine shrugged. "I don't know; it's close to where she was found and it looks fresh and the only evidence we got so far of an assault but-" she trailed off.

Nick nodded. "I know." He gave her a small smile. "Warrick's on his way. He called me when he got your text. He and Tina were already driving back from Lake Tahoe. He should be here within the hour."

"Bet Tina won't like that."

"Well, tough."

"You managed to get a hold of Greg?"

Nick nodded his reply. "Okay. So where do you want me?"

"Secondary scene. We need to link – or eliminate – this blood to where Sara was found. Search every square inch of the grass; see if they are any blood drops, drag marks, shoeprints, anything-" the ringing of her cell interrupted Catherine. "Thanks Nick," she smiled.

Nick didn't seem to hear her; he had walked away already checking the grass area directly behind the bench.

Cursing at the intrusion thinking it was Ecklie calling again, Catherine pulled the phone out of her pants pocket, her eyes widening in alarm when she saw the name on the display. _Oh no…_she thought checking the time on the screen, _it's far too soon to be good news._


	4. Chapter 4

Catherine waited for Nick to be out of earshot and flipped the phone open with shaky hands."Gil," she gasped but she didn't get to finish her sentence before she was interrupted.

"Catherine, I've only just remembered. As well as her left running shoe, Sara's iPod's missing. It's white, with ear buds rather than headphones. She wasn't wearing it when I found her. She definitely left the house with it on."

Catherine let a small sigh of relief and then lifted her brow at Grissom's inadvertent words of admission to a relationship with Sara. Choosing not to comment on them, she shook her head at the wretchedness of the situation. "How is she?" she asked. The prolonged pained sigh she heard over the line in reply didn't bode well. When he still hadn't answered her question after a minute, fearing the worst she probed anxiously, "Gil?"

When he replied his voice was a barely audible whisper fraught with some much desolation that Catherine couldn't help the tears welling in her eyes. "She's in surgery," he uttered. "The prognosis isn't good, Cath. She coded again in the ambulance on the way over." She heard Grissom's voice break and he coughed to cover his emotion.

_The cardiac monitor was deafening, echoing painfully in his head as it resonated around the confined metal cage of the ambulance. He was powerless to help or do anything other than hold her hand, increasing his pressure on it to let her know that he was there with her; that she wasn't on her own; that she would never be on her own. _

_He could only pray, beg God to help her. Him, the lapsed Catholic, he prayed for God to spare her life; he prayed for a movement, a flicker of recognition, a flutter of her eyelids, just a sign from her that would acknowledge his presence._

_He prayed for a miracle. Nothing. _

_The tears in his eyes – tears of sorrow mixed with mounting anger and frustration at himself – blurred his vision of her and the more forcefully he wiped at them, the faster they flowed. He was powerless to stop them. So he let them fall. _

_He closed his eyes, the memories of their last conversation flooding him, crushing him. If he had known less than a couple of hours ago that it would be the last time he would speak to her and hear her resonating laughter, that it would be the last time he could have kissed her and told her, showed her he __loved her,__he would have done things differently. _

"_I'm sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry," he whispered to her._

_But__ he hadn't known. How could he have? And sadly he hadn't done any of these things. He clenched his eyes shut tight. Because at that particular moment in time, a freaking ball game had been more important to him than Sara. _

_And that's when it happened; her heart stopped beating – again. They were just pulling into Desert Palm. His silent, lonely, angry tears doubled in intensity as he was pushed away from her side, the life once more slipping out of her._

Grissom cleared his throat, jarring Catherine out of her stupor. "They say with an injury like hers, the chances of her making it through surgery are slim. I don't know Catherine...I don't think she's going to make it," he finished tearfully.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak but remained silent at a loss for words, pained at the misery and despair emanating from her dear friend. It wasn't like him to sound so defeated, so pessimistic, and so obviously heartbroken. Not like him at all. She sighed. "She's a fighter, Gil," she finally said for want of something better. She swallowed the lump in her throat, slightly turning away from Greg who was watching her intently as he sprinted across the small playing field over to her. She pulled the baseball cap lower over her eyes, wiping them and reached for her sunglasses slipping them on.

"Listen Catherine," Grissom was now saying, a semblance of his usual composure seemingly returning. "Can you make sure Brass initials the evidence I recovered on Sara?"

The shift in his tone surprised her; yet it shouldn't have. If one person was capable of reining in his emotion in a time like this it was Grissom. "Sure," she replied, her manner once more businesslike. "But why?" she probed hesitantly.

"Just do it. Also, you'll need to come over to take mine and Sara's clothes for processing."

"Of course."

Grissom didn't wait to hear her reply to plough on. "Can you…I wondered whether you'd…you'd…whether _you_ could come to…to…" he stopped short, unable to get the words out and sighed heavily.

"It's all right Gil," Catherine said after a while, understanding what he was trying to ask. "Of course I'll come to do it. Just let me know when she's out of surgery."

Grissom lapsed into another lengthy silence. Thinking it the end of their conversation Catherine was about to hang up when he asked, "Have you found Hank's leash?"

"Not yet." Catherine replied, acknowledging Greg's arrival with a small smile. "I-"

"They had to have tied him to something to restrain him," he told her. "He must have broken free; that's how he managed to get back home and raise the alarm. Check his collar-"

"I will." She thought about mentioning the blood evidence she was still to swab but thought it better to wait until she had a clearer picture. "Gil?" she said quietly.

By the tone of Catherine's voice, Grissom seemed to guess what piece of information she was now hankering for. He sighed, pleading, "Please, Catherine, I'm not ready to talk about it – not yet." He paused. "When you're done with Hank can you take him to the Animal Hospital on South Rainbow so Dr Patelli can check out the wound on his neck?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. They have his records. Have him bill us." He took a short breath. "And then would you mind taking him in until…until…well, you know…for a little while. Or ask Warrick to do it if it's too much for you. Also you'll need his stuff, I'll-"

"Gil, stop! Listen, we don't have to do this now. We can sort it out when I come to…" Catherine stopped herself. She had been about to say 'process Sara' but somehow couldn't bring herself to say the words. Thinking of Sara as the victim felt so very wrong.

Grissom cut into her thoughts. "I'll let you know when Sara's ready for you."

"Gil!" she called before he had time to disconnect the call. She heard his heavy sigh over the line and thought he would hang up but he didn't. "How are you bearing up? Brass said-"

"Listen, Catherine, I gotta go." With that he hung up.

Downcast, Catherine let out a long breath and closed her eyes.

"I got here as fast as I could," Greg said as soon as Catherine lowered the cell from her ear, making her jump. He was swaying from foot to foot, rearing to go. Catherine looked up, returning his fraught smile. "So? That was Grissom on the phone, wasn't it?" he asked needlessly. The anxiety and distress in the young CSI's voice was palpable.

Catherine nodded her reply, replacing her cell phone in her pocket. Deciding that it wouldn't serve any purpose to voice aloud how life threatening Sara's condition was and knowing how close Sara and Greg were, she simply said, "She's still in surgery." She paused, reached across to him and placed her hand on his shoulder warmly. "Nick told you?" To his small nod she added, "I know you're particularly close to Sara, Greg, and I wondered-"

Greg shook his head vehemently. "Catherine, I want to help. I need to be here. Please, I need to do _something_."

Catherine let out a sigh. "You sure?" she asked, making eye contact with him.

He nodded his head earnestly. "Absolutely. All hands on deck, right? Please, Catherine it's important to me."

"I know," she said with a soft smile. "I know. It's important to all of us." Then she paused, turning toward the crime scene. "Okay. Greg, I want you to process Hank. He's got an injury to his neck that'll need swabbing and documenting. Also, check his teeth in case he bit a piece off the attackers – and his nails." She turned back toward Greg. His face was pursed into a confused frown, his eyes settled on Hank. The young CSI refocused his gaze on his boss. "Sara was jogging with him when she was attacked," she explained briefly. "When you're done processing him, let me know; I'll take him to the vet. Grissom says his leash is missing and the fixing on his collar is broken off. So afterwards, I'll need you to scour the park, find the leash or whatever was used to restrain him and where. You okay with that?"

Greg knew better than query Catherine's instructions even though what she had just said had raised a lot of questions with the young CSI. He nodded seriously still swaying on his feet ready to get started. "I'm on it," he replied with enthusiasm. "Thank you."

* * *

"It was an accident," the boy with the band aid over his left earlobe said. "We didn't think she'd fight back as much as she did. She went wild; almost pulled my ear right off."

"She caught us by surprise," a second male voice interjected. He was a scruffy-looking man in his mid-to-late twenties. He had narrow mean eyes, a two-day growth of sparse beard, and straight black hair pulled back into a short ponytail. The right sleeve of his long-sleeved blue tee-shirt was ripped, specks of dry blood coating the frayed edges.

"What do you mean 'she caught you by surprise'?" the middle-aged woman asked, mimicking his voice nastily. "I handed her to you on a plate." She picked a little tobacco off the corner of her mouth with the tip of her little finger, flicked it off it with her thumb and then closed her eyes, taking a long, calming drag of her cigarette. She let the smoke fill her lungs and then she exhaled slowly through her nose, a low moan of heady pleasure escaping her. "I wanted her alive, Marty. What happened?"

Marty shrugged his reply in a couldn't-care-less fashion while scrolling through the list of songs on the iPod in his hand. He placed the ear bud back in his ear, turned the volume to the maximum and shuffled off toward the couch.

"Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you, Angel," the woman said quietly but uninterested, Marty shrugged another shoulder. She moved to the dining room table, stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette in the ashtray and reached in the pack on the table for a new one. She smiled to herself catching a glimpse of the cigarette butts all lined up in the ashtray, their lipstick-coated filter-ends stoop up like red-tipped little soldiers standing to attention, as she brought the cigarette to her mouth.

"I've been watching her for weeks; studying her routine," she continued, the cigarette dangling from her lips, a shaky hand pushing her auburn hair back behind her ear. "I told you how to restrain the dog, where do find her." The woman's voice was steadily rising. "All you had to do was bring her to me – ALIVE!" Her shaky hands reached for the packet of matches on the table and she struck one to the side of the box. "I wanted to make her suffer. I wanted him to watch her suffer. Like I had to. Now you robbed me of that pleasure." She struck a second match – in vain – and angrily tossed the packet on the table. "I've been waiting a year to have my revenge. ONE WHOLE LONG YEAR!"

"Sorry," muttered the teenage boy but the woman didn't acknowledge him.

Marty silently got up from the couch and walked up to the woman. He took the cigarette off her lips, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a Zippo lighter he pulled out of his pocket. He inhaled deeply and took a second cigarette out of the pack, which he lit off the first one before passing it back to the woman. Without a word, he resumed his sitting position on the couch.

Smoke coming out of her mouth, the woman turned nodding to the younger boy, indicating that she was ready to hear his explanation. "Jimmy?"

Jimmy nervously rubbed at the wound on his ear. "We got the dog as you said – that was the easy part. He was real trusting at first and we restrained him quickly. When I went to grab the woman by the neck, she had me in a choke hold from behind and-"

"You stupid imbecile!" she snapped before turning toward Marty. "I told you to do that yourself," she told him.

Jimmy whined. "It wasn't my fault-"

"It wasn't my fault," she mocked cruelly snapping her head round at the boy. "Oh. Grow up!"

Jimmy shuffled his feet awkwardly and glanced at Marty sitting on the couch. "Marty…"

"Shut up." Marty gave the younger boy a warning look. "Shut up, Jimmy." Jimmy closed his mouth and then reopened it. "I said _Shut up, Jimmy_." The silent but very obvious threat in the tone of voice had the desired effect and Jimmy averted his gaze to the floor, glowering.

"Marty?" The woman asked quizzically, her eyes darting between the two boys.

"It's nothing, all right? Drop it."

The woman pulled a face and joined Marty on the couch. She reached up to his face and stroked his cheek, pushing a strand of greasy hair back with her hand, the cigarette she was smoking stuck between her index and middle fingers. He flinched but didn't move back from her touch.

Jimmy watched, his eyes darkening with jealousy. "Sorry," he muttered uncomfortably, again apologising for their failure at the park. The woman didn't respond, just put the cigarette to her mouth and lowered her hand to Marty's thigh. "I got something for you I thought you might like though," he said feebly, trying to get her attention.

"Huh?" she mumbled distractedly, her stare still on Marty's profile, her hand in his crotch, clearly turning him on. "Like a gift?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said a little tentatively.

"And what's that?"

"A picture."

"A picture?" she repeated quietly, not paying a lot of attention.

"Yeah, on my cell. You want to see it?"

"A picture of what?"

"Of that bitch dying."

The woman paused, giving Jimmy her full attention. She shifted on the couch, her eyes widening his anticipation. She grinned, motioning for the ashtray. Jimmy brought it to her immediately and she stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. "Show me," she said hoarsely when she had finished.

Pleased that he managed to get her attention off Marty and onto him, Jimmy pulled his cell out of the pocket at the front of his hooded top, pressed a few keys and handed it to the woman.

The latter smirked as she stared at the grainy close-up picture of Sara's face. Sara was looking skyward, her eyes opened a crack, a small trickle of blood seeping out of her mouth. "Shame I didn't get to cut her throat; kill her the way my prince killed himself." She let a long sigh. "Okay, well it doesn't matter now. I'll think of another way." She paused and turned to address Marty. "Can they trace the attack back to you?"

"You mean, can they trace it back to _you_?" He shook his head. "No. We followed your instructions-"

"Not very well, or else she'd be here and not dead."

Marty shrugged his lack of concern, scrolling to another song.

"Jimmy, honey, can you go to your room?" the woman asked the teenage boy without taking her eyes off Marty.

"Why? I want to play games on the playstation."

"Please, go to your room," she pleaded softly. "I'll come see you in a moment."

Looking more than a little upset the boy grudgingly headed for his room.

The woman didn't wait for Jimmy to leave the room to come closer to Marty, almost straddling him. She placed her hand under his chin, turning his head so he had no alternative but look at her. "Angel," she purred, "Come here. I can smell her on you." She stretched up and kissed him full on the lips, twisting him round on the couch into a laying position.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: This is it for 2009, well almost. I wish everyone a very happy New Year for 2010, good health and a lot of happiness. Take care, Sylvie


	5. Chapter 5

"Sorry I'm late," Warrick said a little breathlessly on reaching Nick.

Nick swivelled on his heels, looking up to Warrick with a small smile. "Tina all right?"

"She doesn't get it, man," the tall African-American sighed, shaking his head. He set his kit on the ground and crouched down, scanning his gaze over Nick's crime scene. "Wow, man, you've been busy!" He took a moment to study the assortments of random objects lying in clear evidence bags; a runner's plastic water bottle, litter, food and sweet trash and the usual cigarette butts, all would need to be printed and swabbed back at the lab. "How are you getting on?"

Nick let out a long breath as he straightened himself upright. "As you'd expect working a scene at the park," he replied removing his ball cap to wipe the sweat off his brow. "It's hard to tell what's old from what's new; what's relevant from what's not. Catherine briefed you?"

"Some. She was on her way back to the lab and then the vet's when I caught up with her."

Nick nodded. "We're still missing Sara's iPod and left sneaker. I've searched this area with a fine tooth comb and nada. This pool of blood here is where Griss found Sara. I got a few scattered blood drops here and there as well as some drag marks leading from the bench we think she was attacked at, just over there," he said pointing to the bench Catherine had processed, "to behind these bushes here. It looks like she managed to crawl out from behind them." He paused, meeting Warrick's gaze. "Could be random, I know," he said pre-empting his colleague's next comment, "but so far it's all we got connecting the two scenes."

Warrick nodded distractedly. "Until we get the blood results back from DNA," he said and then he pulled a face, his gaze stopping on the pool of dried vomit a few feet away. "Sara's?" he asked.

Nick looked and shook his head grimly. "Grissom's."

Warrick's eyes widened to dark, almost protruding orbs. "Shit." He paused. "Have you heard from him? How is he?"

Nick shrugged his ignorance. Warrick nodded and stood up, stretching out his long limbs. He silently began to retrace his steps toward the bench following the scattered evidence markers, Nick following close behind. "If it's her blood," he mused examining the corner of the bench, "it's a strange place for it. Isn't the BFT at the back of her head?"

"I thought about that," Nick replied. "I'm thinking she got pushed somehow in the scuffle, falling backward onto the bench." He shrugged in a 'it's all we got' kind of way. "Besides, it's the only consequential blood we found in the vicinity."

Warrick pursed his face as he considered Nick's theory. Everything was possible at this stage but he knew better than get himself ahead of the evidence. "What's this about Griss choosing not to work the scene?"

"I don't know. The only way Ecklie agreed to us being here at all was if Grissom stayed strictly hands off."

Warrick pulled a dubious face. "Still. Normally that wouldn't stop him; he'd be all over this like a rash."

"I know. Catherine spoke to him a little while ago; he said Sara was still in surgery. That it's likely to take a while. He's probably already back at the lab processing Sara's clothing."

"Mmm. Don't know. Too many unanswered questions."

"Let's just do the best we can for her here," Nick said, "then we can start filling in the blanks."

"Yeah." Warrick rubbed his face wearily. "Just when things were starting to get back to normal round here, this happens."

"Yeah, well shit happens when you least expect it," Nick retorted glumly. His face seemed to shut off for an instant but he soon shook himself out his dark recollections and forced a smile at Warrick.

"Okay. Do you need help finishing here?" Warrick asked.

"Nah. I'm almost done. Catherine's processed the bench and Greg Hank-"

"So what's left? What do I do?"

"Well, Greg's still around somewhere. He found Hank's leash looped round a park information post, fifty yards over there round that corner, and is now looking through bushes and trash cans to see if Sara's running shoe and iPod were dumped."

"This doesn't make sense," Warrick lamented straining his gaze over the row of hawthorn bushes toward where Nick was pointing. "Looped round, you say? That's weird in itself. Hank's a big powerful dog. I know he's trusting and generally harmless but if Sara was attacked here, he would have fought to defend her, you know? How did they get him all the way over there, untie him from the leash, loop it round the post _and_ clipped it back on afterwards?" He stopped and sighed while Nick shrugged his shoulders bleakly.

"That, we haven't figured out yet."

"They can't have drugged or stunned him," Warrick continued, "or he wouldn't have been able to run all the way home to fetch Griss, and then back here." He shook his head, frowning; they were still missing a key piece of evidence. He took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll give Greg a hand with the missing items; I'll go wide and search the local dumpsters outside the park's perimeter."

"Guys! Guys!"

Nick and Warrick both turned their faces at the same time toward Greg. He was striding toward them, smiling and looking pleased with himself as he gingerly carried a long white plastic pole with a wide loop on one end in his right gloved hand, his field kit in the left.

"What have you got there?" Warrick asked, craning his neck toward Greg's find.

"A dog catcher pole," Nick replied before Greg had time to, earning an irked scowl from the younger man. "A home-made one at that."

"Yeah. I found it dumped near the grounds keeper's maintenance shed way over that way," Greg explained eagerly. "I'm going to take it back to the lab for processing but I'm pretty sure that's what was used to subdue Hank. Maybe we can get a print from it or we can trace back where the components were purchased. That's a start," he added optimistically.

Nick nodded with a smile. "Good work, Greg," he said patting his younger colleague on the shoulder.

"You know what that means don't you?" Warrick asked.

To which, both Nick and Greg nodded their heads. "Sara was targeted," the latter said.

Nick sighed. "Someone knew Sara would be out here jogging with Hank and they came prepared. There goes our random attack theory."

* * *

Catherine looked down and smiled at Hank. Her face was streaked by the flashing red neon light above the door informing her that the Animal Hospital was still open at this late hour. "Good old Vegas," she told the boxer, "even veterinarians are open 24/7."

She stepped into the reception area, Hank following close on her heels. He had been stripped of his collar, which had been swabbed, printed and sealed into an evidence bag. One glance told her the reception area was empty. _Good,_ she thought, _the quicker I get done here, the quicker I can head over to Desert Palm. _"No disrespect buddy," she told Hank.

"Excuse me," Catherine said to the receptionist behind the counter. "I was hoping I could see Dr Patelli. I know it's late but is he still around?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

Hearing a door opening to her left, Catherine turned to see a sullen-looking teenage girl come out of the treatment room, a terrarium with an equally sullen-looking snake, clasped tightly in her hands. The mid-to-late forties rather attractive man, who followed the girl out and Catherine hoped was Dr Patelli, wore an unbuttoned white medical coat over designer jeans and a navy shirt open at the neck. No ring on his ring finger, she noted in passing. He was giving the teenager last minute instructions on how to care for her sick pet. Catherine shuddered. Thank goodness Lindsay had been more into creatures of the small furry kind. She sighed; that was years ago.

"Madam?"

Catherine glanced back at the receptionist and held up a finger.

"Cindy, can you hold my calls?" the vet called, stepping back into his office. "I'm going to take a break."

"Certainly Sir," the receptionist replied.

"Dr Patelli?" Catherine interjected, "Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Crime Lab. May I take a few minutes of your time?"

Dr Patelli popped his head round the door. "The Crime Lab?" he said with a raise of his eyebrows. "You're a colleague of Dr Grissom and Sara?"

Catherine shook her head in disbelief, wondering whether _everybody_ knew about Grissom and Sara's relationship except her. "I am," she replied with a broad smile. "Could you please take a look at Hank? He's got some lacerations to his neck but otherwise appears fine. I wondered whether you could check him out though…just to be on the safe side."

The vet's face turned serious and he crouched down to Hank's height. "I thought I recognised this fine specimen," he told the boxer giving him a small rub of the snout. "How are you, Hank?" The dog seemed to pull a sad face at the vet in reply. "It's like that, huh?" Dr Patelli frowned, pulled a pair of silver-framed glasses out of his breast coat pocket and began inspecting the wound.

"Have Dr Grissom and Sara been involved in an auto accident?" he asked looking up to Catherine with alarm.

Catherine shook her head and sighed. "Not exactly."

Dr Patelli nodded and showed Catherine into the treatment room. He treated and dressed the wound on Hank's neck. He then took a moment to check the dog over and wrote a prescription for antibiotics, which he handed to Catherine. "The antibiotic's just as a precaution," he told her. "He's absolutely fine and the laceration should heal in a few days. All his inoculations are up-to-date so…Will you be looking after him?" Catherine nodded with a soft smile. "It's best to mix the antibiotic to his food." He paused. "May I ask how the injury occurred?"

"We're not entirely sure," Catherine replied, hesitating. She was going to feed him the usual 'I'm afraid I can't discuss an ongoing case' line when she stopped herself. "Do _you_ have any idea how he could have incurred this injury?" she asked instead.

The vet shrugged. "I've seen many cases of neglect when dogs get bought to me with this type of lacerations to the neck. Typically, they were chained in yards for extended period of times and they try to break free by pulling at their restraint, cutting into the skin." He paused, frowning with concern. "However I can assure you that those dogs had other symptoms of neglect: they were beaten, malnourished, aggressive…Hank is loved and well-looked after and…"

Catherine smiled, lifting a hand to interrupt him. "I know. I know; there's no doubt about it." She paused. "We think he…was somehow taken and tied to a post by his leash, injuring himself when he broke free."

"Oh." The vet's face fell and he looked at Hank. "What happened?"

Catherine hesitated. "Sara was attacked while she was running in the park with Hank."

The vet looked genuinely saddened by the news. "Is…is she all right?"

"I'm afraid I don't know anymore than that."

"Oh…" Dr Patelli closed his eyes for an instant; he knew what Catherine's cautiousness and lack of reassurance meant. "Will you pass my kind regards to Dr Grissom?" he asked. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, in much the same way she had watched Grissom do on so many occasions. "He must be devastated."

Catherine sighed. "You know them well?"

Dr Patelli pursed his lips into a small, fond smile. "I've known Dr Grissom for years…because of the rather unusual menagerie he keeps." He gave a knowing waggle of his eyebrows. "Sara," his smile widened, "well, let's just say that in the last year she's taken more than an avid interest in his collection."

_

* * *

_

Grissom drew the drapes and double-locked the door, shutting out the world. He turned round and sighed as he watched Sara. She was still sat on the leather armchair with her foot propped up on the coffee table, looking in the middle distance, her sad eyes red-rimmed but dry.

_He wasn't good at talking. God, he knew that. He had never been able to say the right thing to her. He was bad with people and he was even worse at dealing with other people's problems. He knew that and avoided it like the plague and yet he had remained...he had stayed. He had listened, keeping silent, not judging. She hadn't asked for anything but for the first time in their history he had known what to do. It had come naturally to him. He had held her hand while she talked, while she cried and now he stood there by the front door, watching her. _

_He knew what to do._

"_I'll make us something to eat," he whispered breaking her out of her trance. She refocused her gaze on him and smiled a small smile. Her face was drained of all colour and he smiled back, a little shyly, his breath catching in his throat. "What do you fancy?"_

_She smiled wider, shaking her head. She pushed her hair back from her face self-consciously. "Anything," she replied as if his question was the most natural one in the world._

_He pursed his face in thought. "Stay put." He winked and scurried to the kitchen area. He began opening cupboards, searching for utensils, for food, something that would make her strong again. _

_Pasta…well, that would have to do. Maybe a little green salad if there's any in the fridge. We're in luck. Cheese! Even better – Gratin!_

Some wine? _Maybe not. He wouldn't want her to think he was taking advantage. After all she had only just told him her biggest secret…shared her biggest fears. There was a quiet bravery to Sara, she was a strong person – proud and brave too – and now he knew why. He could see it in the way she still held her head high when every instinct must have been telling her to look down and hang it low. _

_He thought of all that while he cooked their dinner, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was okay. The daylight was filtering in through the drapes casting playful shadows over her face. She had switched the music back on, a track he had never heard but he liked, but he could tell she wasn't really listening._

_Yet every time, Sara looked up toward him on instinct and smiled. He merely smiled back at her as if what he was doing was the most natural thing in the world. They didn't need to say anything. They were silently moving on to the next level._

_When the meal was ready, he came into the lounge carrying a tray with two plates of steaming fusillis in tomato sauce topped with melted cheese, two small bowls of side salads made of limp lettuce and slightly squashy tomatoes and two beers. _

_Not bad, he thought proudly, the fridge was bare. __There would be plenty of other occasions for wine,__ he mused with a quiet smile to himself,_ _plenty of other occasions to impress her with my culinary talents._

_He set the trey on the coffee table and handed her a beer. She took the bottle and nodded her thanks with a small smile. _

"_Did you want to eat at the table?" he asked a little hesitantly as he made himself comfortable on the couch._

_She shook her head. "No. Here's fine." She bit her bottom lip in uncertainty, dropping her eyes. "Thank you, Grissom," she shrugged, adding, "for doing this – for being there – for-"_

_He slightly touched her arm. "Gil," he said a little shyly._

_Sara looked up sharply and stared at him for a long time meeting his unwavering gaze. Then she nodded her head, her lips curling into a wide grin. _

_She knew._

_So they sat, surprisingly comfortable in each other's company, the music playing in the background, eating their dinner, sipping beer and talking shop; Grissom regaling the tale of how he had used liquid nitrogen to separate the two mummies encased in tar and most importantly his speedy escape when it had gone horribly wrong. _

_The door was locked, the curtains were drawn, they were laughing and they were safe. _

_He was going to keep her safe._

Grissom's eyes were suddenly brimming with emotion and he closed them wearily, silently releasing two lonely tears, for the first time in his life unconcerned whether anyone was witness to his pain and sorrow. He stood a little aside from everybody else, on the fringe of it all but like everybody else waiting – waiting for news of their loved ones.

"Family of Sara Sidle?"

* * *

A/N: Mean, mean, mean, I know but the chapter was getting too long. Hopefully I can get some more to you soon. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who read and review, especially those I can't reply to. I truly appreciate the support and the fact that some of you are reading despite the CD warning and your better judgment. Do share your thoughts and theories with me, they make the story better and maybe with enough begging and positive thoughts I can rescue this…_situation_.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oy! Cop guy!"

The last one of the CSIs at the scene, Warrick looked up with a frown, his hand automatically moving toward his service weapon. There was no doubt in his mind; despite the use of the word _cop_, the shout was addressed to him. It was dark out now and Warrick was packing away the remainder of his stuff; his thorough search of the park and its surrounding area for Sara's belongings yielding nothing. He turned, shared a look with the officer assigned to guarding the scene until Catherine released it and standing a ten yards or so away from him, and nodded his head indicating he was fine handling this alone.

He swivelled round toward the voice, an easy smile gracing his lips. "Yeah?"

"You in-ves-ti-ga-ting the attack on that girl runner?" the teenage boy asked loudly, moving his arms about DJ style as he spoke. Warrick remained silent, his demeanour cool and unaggressive yet his narrowed gaze never left the boy. "Is she one of yours?"

Warrick sized up the male youth standing behind the crime scene tape against the park dim lighting with a trained eye. He stood up to his full height, his arms splayed wide, his right hand hovering over the side arm attached to his belt and took a few steps toward the teenager straining his gaze to take a better look: mid-to-late teens Caucasian male, 5'8 tall, skinny, acne-covered face, shaven head, baggy jeans, oversized Lakers jersey, big black headphones over his ears. The music was on, not too loud but loud enough for Warrick to make out the beat of a famous gangster rap tune as he got nearer. The teenage boy didn't appear to have any tattoos or distinguishing features at first glance and he looked a little jittery and on edge, his gaze darting all over the place but never quite meeting the CSI's.

"What's it to you?" Warrick asked casually.

The boy shrugged a shoulder indifferently. "She dead?"

"What's it to you?" the CSI repeated coolly.

"Just curious."

"You saw something?"

"Nah. Not me." The boy hesitated, peered round over his shoulder, swaying uneasily on his feet. Suddenly looking almost fearful, he quickly turned round and looked Warrick in the eye for a flitting second. "You might want to check the eye in the sky over there though," he said with a backward nod toward the vast expanse, "you never know."

Warrick feigned a look of indifference. "Yeah? What's your name?" he asked but the teenager had already turned his back on him, swaggering away down the path toward the west exit of the park. Warrick glanced skyward into the bright starry night and then back at the boy's retreating figure. "Thanks," he called as an afterthought. He squinted back up to the sky, a befuddled frown on his face, wondering what he was supposed to be looking at.

* * *

"Family of Sara Sidle?"

Grissom's head shot up. He slowly removed his left hand from behind his back to wipe his eyes and gingerly pushed himself off the hospital corridor wall he had been leaning against. Then he quickly bent down to pick up the paper bag by his feet. He had shed the soiled clothes he had been wearing when he found Sara for some blue surgical scrubs he had borrowed. He felt drained and weary. He took a deep breath and headed towards the tired-looking doctor scanning the anxious faces in the adjoining waiting area.

"Over here," he croaked, his hands nervously twisting and untwisting the folded-down top of the brown paper bag. He cleared his throat, looked the man in the eye, extending a slightly shaky hand. "I'm Gil Grissom. Sara's…hum…her partner."

The doctor gave him a small smile and a nod. "That's right, I remember you from when Ms Sidle was brought in. Dr Flanders," he said, shaking the proffered hand perfunctorily. His hair was still damp from showering after surgery but it did nothing to conceal the man's apparent exhaustion. The smile he offered, although well meant, was well practised and did nothing to allay Grissom's fearful anguish. "I was one of the surgeons who operated on Sara," he stated matter of fact. He hesitated before letting out a long breath.

_Oh, no. _Grissom gasped fearing the worst, suddenly feeling very light-headed and swaying on his feet. "She didn't make it, did she?" he whispered, his voice wavering as he brought his hand over his mouth.

"No, no," Dr Flanders was quick to reassure with a wave of his hand, "she's still alive." He exhaled noisily. "It's a…miracle that she made it through the operation as her injuries are very severe but she is still with us." He smiled a tight smile before pausing with a sigh. "Shall we take a seat over there before I proceed? It's a little quieter."

The relief flooded Grissom and he let out an involuntary low moan. _She's still with me; she is going to be okay. _He nodded his head and followed the doctor as if on autopilot. They both sat down on plastic hospital chairs, Grissom keeping the paper bag on his lap.

"First, let me start with what we did accomplish," the neurosurgeon began carefully. To Grissom's small, cautious nod, he continued, "We managed to repair the damage to her lower abdomen, stopping the internal bleeding. The injury she received there broke the tenth and eleventh ribs on her left side rupturing her spleen. I'm afraid we had no choice but to remove it."

"A splenectomy," Grissom stated quietly with an understanding nod before the doctor had time to explain what that meant. "People lead absolutely normal lives without their spleens," he added with a small smile.

The doctor looked surprised at Grissom's apparent medical knowledge but then seemed to notice the blue scrubs Grissom was wearing and nodded his head. "They do," he replied pushing his glasses up his nose. "They do, for the most part." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "That's not all however; the blow she received to the back of the head is of greater concern to me." Grissom nodded, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It fractured her skull penetrating her cerebral cortex. I drained the build-up of blood within the skull, relieving intracranial pressure."

Dr Flanders stopped talking, giving Grissom some take-up time. Grissom looked up, swallowing hard as he struggled to comprehend the words – not the words themselves but their implications.

"I also removed shards of what appears to be wood from the wound," the doctor continued cautiously, "but I'm afraid a larger one penetrated the brain itself causing a small haemorrhage. A large number of brain cells died as a result. You understand what I'm saying?"

Grissom nodded his head bleakly, his gaze vague, fixed on a point in the middle distance. At some level, he understood all too clearly what the neurosurgeon was telling him but his subconscious had other ideas. It was coping the only way it knew how. _Wood fragments? _It told him._ First physical evidence linking the assault to a weapon_. Of course no one had told him about the blood found on the park bench. _We're in the park, _Grissom was thinking,_ a baseball bat, maybe? Or a hockey stick? The handle of a gardening tool, perhaps? A plain old stick of wood? _

Grissom frowned, his distant gaze suddenly refocusing on the doctor. "Have you kept the fragments?" he asked his voice detached and CSI-like.

The neurosurgeon did a double-take, shocked by the peculiarity of Grissom's question. "Excuse me?"

"The wood splinters – the shards you removed from the victim's skull. Have you still got them?" The doctor's eyebrows rose in confusion. "We could use them to identify the kind of weapon used for the assault and then match them to it when we find it," Grissom explained in his customary detached professional tone.

The doctor stared at Grissom in utter bewilderment. "I thought you were her family – not the police, Mr Grissom. I'm not sure I should be discussing ms Sidle's condition if-"

Grissom's head jerked up in surprise as he was jarred back to reality. "I am," he whispered dejectedly after a while. He sighed. He hated himself for what he had just done; for allowing himself to think like a CSI rather than Sara's loved one and retreat back to his usual defence mechanism, but he didn't know how to be anything else. "I am her family," he sighed eventually, heartbroken. He hung his head. "I am both."

Dr Flanders considered Grissom's words and let out a sigh before nodding his head. "Very well, I'll get a nurse to hand the fragments to you."

Grissom nodded his thanks with a wobbly smile. "I'm sorry," he felt the need to add and explain. "I'm sorry. I – I'm finding it difficult to cope with-" he stopped abruptly, his voice breaking. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shaking his head in pained disbelief.

Dr Flanders waited a moment until Grissom had regained some composure before speaking again. "I know it's hard, Mr Grissom. Would you like to go and see her?"

"Is she in pain?" he asked quietly before shaking his head at the stupidity of the question. Of course she wasn't in pain and he knew that – but she had been, hadn't she? And he hadn't been there to prevent it. "Is she suffering?"

A brief smile followed by a quick shake of the head. "No. At the moment she's still under the effect of the anaesthetic."

"And when she wakes up? What happens then?"

The doctor looked pained as he stared at Grissom and then he sighed. "Sir, when someone suffers a brain injury like Sara has, you need to consider the possibility that she might not wake up from this."

Grissom didn't react; he didn't seem to have heard. Even though his gaze was turned toward the doctor he was staring straight through him.

The doctor expected tears, shouts of denial, anger even but not the state of calm stupor Grissom was now exhibiting. He waited a moment before reiterating, "Mr Grissom, please you need to listen to me," he insisted patiently. "I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid there's a strong chance Sara won't regain consciousness at all. You need to prepare yourself for that."

Grissom blinked. "She's in a coma?"

The doctor let out a short breath. "No, Mr Grissom. Sara's not in a coma. We're pretty sure the injury caused some _major_ brain damage. I thought you understood that."

Grissom stared blankly at the doctor and then the words slowly registered. _Brain damage. Some major brain damage._ "_Some _brain damage?" he repeated to himself, aghast, anger creeping up in his voice. His stare hardened. "Pretty sure?" he snapped, not quite shouting but loud enough for several heads to turn in his direction. "What kind of medical probability is that?"

"We still need to carry out all the necessary neurological examinations."

The blow was hard to take and Grissom closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief as he tried to process the doctor's words. "Brain damage?" he muttered incredulously, his world suddenly crashing down around him. He reopened his eyes, turning a gaze of steel at the doctor, his face twisted in badly-concealed fury – directed at whom remained to be seen. "What kind of brain damage are we talking about?"

The doctor jumped back in fright. "It's too early to tell-"

_She made it through surgery,_ he kept telling himself, _she's going to be fine_. His heart couldn't be wrong. The alternative was inconceivable. "She survived the surgery, right?" he said quietly now. "You said the chances of her surviving the operation were slim and she's still breathing, isn't she?"

"Yes–no." The doctor took a deep breath. How could he put this so that this poor man would get it; she most probably wasn't going to wake up. "Against all odds," he replied. "At the moment, she's unable to breathe for herself; the ventilator's breathing for her; it's what's keeping her alive."

"Yes, but that's normal after surgery; she's still under the influence of the anaesthetic, which prevents her from breathing for herself; you said so yourself. Sara's strong – very strong. She will fight. She could still-"

Dr Flanders held up a hand, stopping Grissom mid-stride. It had been a long night for everyone concerned and he wanted to go home. "Please, sir, I can't emphasize enough how serious and life-threatening Sara's condition is," he said very slowly and very calmly. Yet, there was no hesitation and his words were spoken with authority. "Yes, she is still alive but her brain has sustained some serious damage – the extent of which is unclear at present. Let's see how she makes it through the night," he added with a sigh, "and in the morning we will carry out all the appropriate neurological tests, do another CT scan, and establish brain activity and functions and the full extent of the damage." He found and held Grissom's gaze as he made his statement. Then he quickly got up to his feet. "I'm very sorry the prognosis isn't better, Mr Grissom but at the moment that's all I have to give you."

Grissom nodded and sighed, defeated. He bit the corner of his bottom lip anxiously. "Can I see her?"

* * *

"Where have you been?" the woman asked from the couch as Jimmy stepped into the room. A cigarette dangling from her lips, she was impatiently flicking through the pages of a magazine with one hand, the other holding an ashtray.

"Out," he replied, taking off his headphones from his ears and wrapping them around his neck. He blinked his eyes uncomfortably a few times at the thick lingering tobacco smoke that hit him on entry and then stepped fully into the room, snatching the remote off the top of the television set, headed for the armchair furthest away from the couch. He turned the TV onto a music channel.

"Out where?"

Jimmy flicked channels until he caught a repeat of an old Simpsons episode. "Just out, all right?"

The woman was taken aback by her boy's obvious hostility and resentment. "What's the matter Jimmy?" she asked, her impatient tone shifting to one of undisguised sickly syrupiness.

Jimmy pretended to ignore her, seemingly engrossed in Bart's French antics. He let out a snort of laughter as he watched an enslaved Bartbeing made to stomp around a vat of grapes. "Where's he?" he suddenly asked with a nod toward the back of the house, keeping his gaze on the television.

"He's gone out." She paused to take a quick drag of her cigarette. "Come on, Jimmy, you need to get ready. He'll be back soon and I want to get moving soon as."

"I'm ready," he stated, clearly trying to insert some authority and maturity in his still youthful voice.

The woman smiled to herself. Jimmy was as transparent to her as clear water; she had seen it before. He was trying to assert himself. He was growing up. He wasn't her little boy anymore. He was becoming a man. She liked that. "What's this?" she asked softly. "Why the attitude? It's not like you to be short with me."

Jimmy didn't reply, just gave a little shrug of his shoulders, awkwardly shifting position on the chair.

She got up from the couch, took a long suck at the Marlboro in her mouth and moved to the table. She set the ashtray down, stubbing out the remainder of the cigarette. Then she walked up to him, blocking his view of the television set, and kneeled down in front of him. She smiled wickedly as she blew the smoke of her last drag out of the corner of her mouth directly into his face causing him to turn away with a small amused smile.

"That's better," she purred, placing a hand on each of his legs and spreading them apart a little. "I'm not mad at you for what happened at the park this afternoon." She paused in thought. "And you shouldn't be jealous either, sugar." She noticed Jimmy's set jaw and darkened eyes and her smile broadened knowingly. She unhurriedly ran a nicotine-stained finger along his inner thigh. "Is that what's bothering you, Angel, what happened before with Marty?"

"Don't call me that," he said but his tone wasn't belligerent anymore, if anything there was a trace of pride at the little pet name she had called him.

"I tell you what, _An-gel,_" she said enunciating the two syllables suggestively, reaching into her pants pocket for a key. "You can be the one with the key to my heart tonight." She winked and held out the key. "Don't lose it."

* * *

Tbc.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm too impatient for my own good but here goes another update before I chicken out. Please, remember that ultimately I love Sara and Grissom's characters as much as you do. :-) I'd like to take this opportunity again to thank everyone for reading and their praise and support so far with this story. And please, please leave a review. They let me know how I'm doing. Thank you.

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Catherine pushed the hospital room door open very quietly and gasped. She had been in this position countless times before but seeing Sara hooked up to the ventilator, her head heavily bandaged, Grissom by her side twisted her stomach. She entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Grissom didn't seem to notice or acknowledge her presence at all. She stared speechless for a moment, rooted to the spot, as she fought to control her emotions.

A terrible feeling of gloom and sadness filled her. Seeing Grissom slumped forward, red-eyed and ashen with grief, as he held Sara's hand touched her greatly. Seeing him lost in thought, unconsciously brushing the top of her fingers with his fingertips as though he was scared of causing more injury and watching her partially-bandaged face in such an unbridled, loving way broke her heart.

How could she not have noticed?

She placed her kit and the bag of clothes she had brought for him by the foot of the bed and walked round to him. She gently laid her hand on his shoulder and startled, he automatically jerked his hand out of Sara's.

"Please, don't do that on my account," she whispered softly, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You don't need to hide your love for her – not from me anyway. You shouldn't hide it at all, Gil." He didn't reply or make a move and Catherine sighed. "How is she?"

Grissom remained turned away from his friend but shrugged a small shoulder in reply, blinking a tear which he quickly brushed away with the back of his thumb. He waited a long time before speaking and when he did the tone of his voice was the detached yet respectful one he reserved for dealing with victims and families of victims of crimes. Catherine figured it probably was the only way he could bring himself to talk about Sara's condition while managing to keep control over his emotions. And yet the forlorn look in his eyes when he turned to look at her betrayed his apparent composure.

"They removed her spleen," he began to say before snorting at his own words. "Not that she's going to need it." His voice lost a little of its self-control and wobbled. "The blunt force trauma penetrated her skull. They did what they could but we've seen enough of these types of injuries to know that-" Grissom let his words trail, shaking his head, turning away to hide his sorrow. "They…said that – that she…oh, Catherine, they think that…" and unable to put what Dr Flanders had said into his own words, he repeated it word for word.

Catherine gasped and had to lean on Grissom to keep upright. She closed her eyes, causing the tears that had formed in her eyes on hearing his words to fall. "I'm so sorry," she murmured before gripping the back of his shoulder tightly as she hugged him to her from behind and began to sob. He shifted in her embrace, and stood up, turning to face her. He hesitated a moment and then put his arms around her shoulders while she pressed her head against him and cried. He hugged her to him tightly, silently crying too while he stroked her long hair soothingly remaining like this a long while lulled by the soft sounds of the respirator.

Grissom was the first to move. In the space of those few minutes, something imperceptible had shifted in his demeanour. His eyes were now dry, his face once more a mask for his feelings and the words he whispered in her ear halted her tears straightaway.

"Cath, it's okay. It's all okay," he said. "It's going to be okay," he insisted quietly. "I know she's going to be okay; she's still alive." He pushed her from him and banged a gentle fist over his heart a few times. He gave her a warm smile that only emphasised the pain in his eyes. "I can feel it in here," he added, "she's going to wake up." Catherine tilted her head to the side, pinching her lips together tightly to stop herself from bursting into tears again. "We just have to wait for her to wake up." He turned round toward Sara and watched her.

Shocked by Grissom's reaction, Catherine could only stare at his back in stunned silence. _My god, Gil, you're not coping at all._ _You're __in complete denial. _

"Are you going to be okay handling the investigation?" he asked her after a moment, cutting into her thoughts.

Catherine cleared her throat and pushed her hair back, hesitating on the best way to proceed. She took in a deep breath. "Sure," she eventually said, thinking it preferable to play along with him for now and in a small way relieved that they were returning to safer grounds. "Swing's pulling overtime and covering half our shift but so far it's qui-" she stopped short of saying 'quiet' but Grissom didn't even flinch at the word. She shook her head, adding, "I took Hank to the vet; the injury on his neck's only superficial and should heal in a few days."

She paused, still waiting for a different reaction from him. This wasn't normal Grissom. He wasn't asking about Hank; he wasn't inquiring about the case, about what evidence they had uncovered so far. He was very impassive, and not in his usual way. It was almost as though he didn't care but she knew deep down that that couldn't be farther from the truth.

When he still hadn't spoken after a minute, still watching Sara, Catherine cleared her throat again, a little uncomfortably this time. She had come as Grissom's and Sara's friend of course, but she still had a job to do. Adopting her CSI voice she said, "I'm going to need to take your clothes for processing; I see you got changed already," she added with a nod towards the surgical scrubs he was wearing when he looked round toward her.

Grissom nodded back, indicating the brown paper bag by the door. Looking where he was pointing, she added, "I didn't think you'd want to leave her side so I…I've brought you some clothes to get changed into and the reading glasses you keep in your office."

Grissom arched his brow and thanked her with a tight smile. He looked over, recognising the sports bag with the spare set of clothes he kept in his _locked_ locker at the lab and frowned. Catherine curled her lips into an understanding smile.

"Don't worry I didn't pick the lock or pry," she quipped mildly. "And I put everything back the way I found it. Back of top drawer in your office desk, under the rabbit's head." He lifted a brow again, this time in interest, awaiting her explanation. "We all know where you keep your spare keys, Gil," she provided, her smile broadening. He gave a faint nod in return and resumed his vigil of Sara.

Catherine sighed, checking her watch, wondering how she would get him to leave the room while she processed Sara. She certainly wasn't looking forward to it but she would much rather be the one to do it than one of the guys or even worse, some strange nurse. "Why don't you go and get yourself a coffee while I…" she started unconvincingly, shrugging her words off. She hesitated and sighed. "Or better still grab something to eat."

He shook his head. "I won't interfere. I won't even watch. I'll just hold her hand."

Catherine looked at him and didn't have the heart to refute his request. "You sure?" To his soft nod, she agreed with a small smile. She brought the swivelling trey closer the bed, and as she hoisted her silver kit onto it she noticed a vial. "What's this?" she asked. She picked up the vial and lifted it up to the light.

Grissom looked and shook his head with a short sigh. "I can't believe I almost forgot about these."

"Wood fragments?" Catherine said, examining those closely. "Judging from the blood on them, I'm assuming-"

"From the wound on the back of Sara's head," he said, keeping his voice low amd expressionless.

Catherine nodded her head. "I'll get Hodges to compare them to the wood sample from the park ben-" Catherine stopped abruptly, remembering she hadn't told Grissom about any of the evidence uncovered so far. And he hadn't asked either.

Grissom's gaze narrowed. He turned and stared at Catherine, a frown on his face, waiting for her to continue.

Opening her kit quietly to put away the vial, she started to brief him on what they had so far. Then, she took out a pair of latex gloves, which she slipped on and her camera. She swallowed the lump in her throat and moved to the other side of the bed, gently pulling the sheet down off Sara's chest, grimacing at the sight of the drain tube sticking out of her stomach.

Grissom winced. "Stop! Please Catherine, stop."

Catherine froze at the distress in his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Stop, please," he pleaded in a fraught whisper. "I don't want you to do it."

Catherine sighed. "Gil, I have no choice; you know we've got to document her injuries. It's-"

"_I'm_ going to do it. Please, let me do it," he begged desolately.

"Gil, that's not a good idea. I think you ought to go and get yourself a coffee – get me one too while you're at it."

Grissom shook his head, not budging. "I won't. I can't. I can't leave her. Please, Catherine."

Catherine was going to argue, explain that the only way she had gotten Ecklie to agree to the team working the case was to promise Grissom would take a back seat, a mere supervisory role in the investigation but the desperate resignation in the tone of his voice stopped her and she nodded, passing her camera to him.

Grissom moved the breathing tube out of the way as much as he could, uncovering the right side of her neck, and stared at the raw, four-inch contusion there.

Intrigued, Catherine walked round to the other side of the bed. "You think they tried to strangle her?" she asked quietly, peering over his shoulder.

Grissom pondered Catherine's comment. "It would appear so," he replied in a whisper. "She wasn't wearing a scarf…" he stopped, a frown suddenly creasing his features. He adjusted the focus and took a couple of photographs in quick succession. "Catherine, hand me the..." he said, waving his free hand about for the item.

Catherine was already one step ahead of him and swapped the camera for some long-edged tweezers. "You got something?"

"Maybe." Grissom delicately pulled a little fibre from the wound on Sara's neck and brought it up to the light, squinting at it. "Synthetic?" he said, part statement part question.

"Could have been left behind during the operation," Catherine mused. "I'll take it to Hodges; see what he makes of it."

Grissom nodded, dropping the fibres into a bindle Catherine held open for him before handing back the tweezers. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and slowly brought the camera up to his eye, clicking the shutter.

Grissom took his time, reverently photographing each and every one of Sara's injury, gently covering and uncovering different parts of her body in turn. The tenderness, respect and love in each of his measured move were so painstakingly apparent, so quietly sensuous that Catherine was awestruck. As he placed the small L-shaped scale ruler against her body, he let his fingers trace over the outline of her bruises very delicately yet not quite making contact lest he hurt her.

With each shot he allowed his eyes to caress her body, his gaze brushing softly over each and every one of her bruises. Catherine watched in rapt fascination, wondering how she could have missed the signs, how she hadn't seen _it_ before. It was just him and Sara in the room. All the while he talked softly to her, explaining what he was doing, murmuring soothing words, words of love, of apologies and regret Catherine couldn't quite make out.

With every flashing photographic shot he took, Catherine witnessed his heart break a little more and her heart broke for him.

Grissom cleared his throat and Catherine jumped unaware that he had finished his task. She turned toward him, took the proffered camera and switched it off before stowing it in her case.

Grissom cast a few furtive, worried glances at Catherine, his mouth opening and shutting in hesitation as though scared of uttering the question burning on his lips. As Catherine was putting the last of her equipment away, he blurted, "Aren't you going to do an SAE kit?"

Catherine's head shot up in Grissom's direction, her eyes wide with sudden distress. "No, I…I didn't think it was necessary. We didn't find any evidence that led us to believe that she had…," Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat, "Do you think I should?"

Grissom was looking at Sara, his face contorted in anguish. He scrunched his eyes shut in a futile attempt at ridding his mind of the images of Sara's body when he had found her.

"Gil?"

"I don't know," he whispered after a while.

"Gil? What do you mean 'you don't know'?" she asked with fear. "You wouldn't have asked me unless you had suspicions."

"It's not important."

"Of course it's important," she snapped shortly. She paused taking a deep breath and an SAE kit out of her case. "I can't believe you just said it wasn't important," she mumbled irritably. "Don't you want to get to the bottom of this? Don't you want to catch her attacker?" To his lack of reaction, she exclaimed, "What about the truth, don't you want that anymore?"

"I just want her back." His voice was calm and flat, defeated.

Catherine sighed. "I'm sorry, Gil," she apologised quickly. "I'm sorry. I know it's hard for you. I know that – I can see that – but it is hard for me too." She paused. "I know you're only trying to protect her. I understand that, really I do. It's just that…" she sighed, "well, I think – I know – Sara would want us to do this."

Grissom kept his gaze on Sara as he considered his friend's words. Closing his eyes he whispered, "When I found her, her clothes were…untidy." He turned his heartbroken gaze to Catherine. "I redressed her, Catherine."

"Oh Gil," Catherine gasped. She stared at him eyes wide with pained disbelief but almost immediately he turned away, hiding his emotion. Catherine didn't say anything more; she just turned toward her field case, spreading out all she would need to carry out a sexual assault exam.

_Sara woke to find Grissom watching her. He was propped up on his elbow, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. She smiled, stretched her arms indolently over her head and turned on her side, facing him, snuggling closer to him, in that favourite spot, just in the nook of his warm body. _

_She let out a sigh, a soft moan of contentment and closed her eyes, blissfully happy. She wasn't ready to face the world. Not just yet._

_He had other ideas. _

_He brushed the tip of his fingers up the length of her arm, over her bare shoulder and rested it under the strap of her top. He paused, moving his face a little closer. Then, his fingers slowly lowered the thin cotton strap all the way down her shoulder to her elbow, exposing the curve of her soft breast, which he kissed tenderly. _

_Sara's eyes were still closed feigning sleep but she couldn't help the shiver of excitement course through her, her lips instinctively curling into a knowing, eager smile. _

_He shifted closer still. She felt the soft bristles of his trimmed beard tickling her skin, sending shivers down her spine as he continued with his playful ministrations, the grin pulling wider on his face. She couldn't help the low moan of pleasure escape as she allowed him to roll her onto her back so that she was now pinned under him with no choice but to stare directly into his laughing, dark blue orbs. _

_She shook her head knowingly and dropped her smile. _Oh, you think this is a given, do you, Gil Grissom?_ she thought to herself, _that I am putty to your hands. Well, we'll see about that.

"_What time is it?" she said with a fake yawn, peering towards the alarm clock on the bedside table._

_Grissom started, pulling slightly back. "A little after twelve…in the afternoon, I think," he replied. "But remember we both got tonight off," he added quickly._

_Sara was struggling to keep a straight face. "And how did you manage that, huh?"_

"_A little tweaking of the roster and a lot of grumbling from Warrick…but I figured it was my turn for a night off with my…" Sara arched her brow challengingly, "…my better half," he finished with a cheeky grin._

_Sara dropped the pretence. They had so little quality time together as it was, why waste it with silly games. "She's a lucky lady," she murmured, her eyes crinkling with laughter. She trailed a soft finger over the line of his beard down to the dimple on his chin. "So…you made any plans?" she asked, mischief replacing the laughter in her eyes._

_Grissom gave a low chuckle. "You need to ask?" He pushed a strand of hair back from her face, staring intently deep into her eyes._

_Sara giggled, holding his gaze. Of course, she didn't need to ask. He had booked his night off weeks ago ever since the Cubs looked to make the __NLCS finals. __The surprise had been when she had looked at the schedule to find she had the night off too. _

_She stretched up abruptly, her mouth close to his ear. "What did you have in mind until then, Dr Grissom?" she murmured hoarsely. _

_She felt his grin and his face turning toward her cheek. His ragged breaths were igniting the tender spot just below her ear as his lips gently brushed against the crook her neck. _

"_Let me show you," he whispered back _

He had been slow, tender and loving. He had shown her everything she meant to him and had felt the same in return. They had taken their time, made love at their pace. It was all he could have wanted. Everything he craved and more. She was everything.

_She IS everything_, he thought agonizingly, his darkened gaze blurring with angry tears.

Half a day – twelve hours since he had last told her he loved her; he checked his wrist for the time, and then remembered he wasn't wearing his watch. He hadn't needed it. It couldn't have been much more than twelve hours. Twelve fucking hours and their lives had changed for ever.

Their lives had changed for the worst.

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Tbc.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Wow…I am completely overwhelmed by the wonderful feedback you left for the last chapter. Your reviews are a tremendous source of inspiration, believe me. :-) So please, please keep them coming. As I've said before, your opinions and thoughts help shape the story and make it better. Thank you.

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"There are…signs of sexual activity," Catherine said quietly and hesitantly as she finished her examination of Sara. She lowered the catheter back in place and looked up, casting a quick glance in Grissom's direction as she recapped the sample of seminal/vaginal fluid she had just swabbed. "I can't see any evidence of a sexual assault though – there's no sign of trauma; no bleeding or tearing; no bruising in the groin area, in or around the vaginal opening or anywhere else," she said optimistically.

Grissom didn't seem to have heard her. His gaze was still fixed on Sara but Catherine noticed that his eyes shone with unshed tears.

A look of alarm flashed across her face, replacing what little relief she had felt as she had examined Sara. "Gil? Did you hear what I just said?"

He blinked and closed his eyes, giving her a small imperceptible nod of the head in response.

Catherine licked her lips in fearful apprehension as she put away the SAE kit. "What do you want me to do?" she asked uncertainly. She looked around the room, hesitating. "Gil," she prompted when he didn't reply, "do you want me to document this?"

He slowly nodded his head.

"You sure?"

He clenched his eyes shut tighter as though in pain and silently gave her another nod of the head.

Catherine's face fell in anguish. "Gil, please," she pleaded, her voice shaking, "tell me the semen's going to be yours."

He shrugged a shoulder despondently and blinked back a tear, falling heavily onto the hospital chair. "I hope so, Catherine," he whispered, taking Sara's hand in his. He brought it to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss in its palm. "I really hope so," he choked on his words and turned his tearful gaze toward Catherine.

She searched his eyes for confirmation of his words but could only see deep sorrow and anguish reflected in them and something else too, something she couldn't quite describe.

"Take it to Wendy," he continued quietly, his gaze once more on Sara. "I want you to do this by the book; dot all your i's and cross your t's. It's the only way we're going to catch whoever did this."

She nodded. "I know."

"I trust you."

"I know," she repeated softly.

"Don't worry about keeping this quiet," he said vaguely but she knew he was referring to his and Sara's relationship. "It's not important anymore. Whatever happens…happens; the lab, Ecklie, the rumour mill, they don't matter much to me at the minute," he said meaningfully. "Just do whatever you got to do to nail those bastards."

"You can count on me – on all of us. We will," Catherine told him. She finished securing her field kit and turned to leave. Catherine the CSI had done her job and she was now back to being Catherine, his friend – if ever the two could be separated. "You need to go home," she said warmly, "catch some sleep, take a shower, wash the blood off your f…" She stopped abruptly.

Grissom's head shot up but he remained silent. He automatically brought his hand up to his face and attempted to wipe Sara's dry blood off his cheek, off his beard. "I thought I washed it all off before. I-" When he thought the blood wasn't coming off, his movement became more frenzied and he manically began scrubbing at his skin and beard.

Catherine inwardly cursed her insensitive slip of the tongue and reached for a wet wipe from her case. She handed it to him, then changed her mind and took a couple of steps toward him. "Here. Let me do it," she whispered with a smile, stilling his fingers with hers before gently wiping the blood he had missed off his cheek. "Please, Gil, let me give you a ride home. You need to take some proper rest. Besides, it's only a matter of time before they kick you out."

"No."

Catherine laid her hand on his shoulders and let out a breath. "Come round mine to spend a little time with Hank," she insisted kindly. Grissom's eyes became pained at the thought of his beloved boxer and he seemed to calm a little. "He's sad and not eating. He just lies there, listless, motionless by the front door. He didn't want to go for a walk either."

"Thank you for doing this for us, Catherine," Grissom said looking into the middle distance. "But I'm not leaving Sara. I'm not leaving her here on her own. What if she wakes up and I'm not here. What if I go and she…she…" He shook his head and refocused his teary gaze on Catherine, forcing a small smile. "What would I do then, huh? Knowing I wasn't there for her. Wasn't there when she needed me. I couldn't protect her, Catherine. I couldn't love her enough." Catherine saw the look again but Grissom shook his head briskly and as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Catherine moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. Brushing it affectionately with her fingers she said, "Gil, it's not your fault. You couldn't know what was going to happen. Nobody could."

"I'm not leaving her."

Knowing she wouldn't get him to change his mind, she nodded, smiling. "Okay."

Grissom got up and reached for his house key lying next to his cell on top of a small cabinet. "Here," he said holding it out to Catherine. "It's the front door key to the townhouse. Take what you need for Hank. His basket's in…our room, I think, and there's stuff he likes in the cupboard under the sink."

Catherine smiled, pocketing the key. "Promise me that you'll at least get something to eat from the cafeteria."

Grissom absent-mindedly nodded his head to her suggestion even though they both knew he wouldn't do it. Besides, he didn't even have his wallet to pay for anything.

"Is there somewhere for you to take a shower here?" she continued. To Grissom's non answer, she added, "Do you need me to do anything else?"

A flash of anger briefly crossed his face. "Apart from catching the bastards that did this to her? No."

"Gil…"

"I'm fine." Catherine shook her head in disbelief and was about to protest when Grissom said, "Please, Catherine don't fuss." He turned away, pinching his lips tightly shut. He resumed his spot on the chair by Sara's side and taking her hand in his he began stroking to top of it lovingly. "Have you found her iPod yet?" he asked, calmer now.

"No."

"What about her missing training shoe?"

"Neither."

"It isn't uncommon for criminals to take mementos from their attack," Grissom mused, a wobbly smile on his lips as he watched Sara. "They could have sold the iPod for a quick buck."

"Do you think it could be important?"

The question seemed to jar Grissom out of the depth of his thoughts. "What?"

"The training shoe."

"Probably not," he said in a murmur.

Catherine could tell from his manner that his guilt weighed heavily on him. Could the look she had glimpsed at simply be guilt? She reached out her hand to his shoulder, which she rubbed affectionately. "Gil, please you mustn't blame yourself." She sighed, increasing the pressure on the top half of his arm.

Grissom nodded, keeping his face turned away in an attempt to hide his tears. Catherine hesitantly opened her arms and pulled him into a hug, resting her head on his shoulder. He turned around in her embrace and broke down. No words were needed or spoken. It was just one friend comforting the other.

When she felt the last of his sobs, she squeezed him tighter to her, whispering in his ear, "I got your back. You look after yourself, Gil and after Sara too. I'm sure she knows you're here."

* * *

Back at CSI, Catherine was on her way to Trace to drop off Sara's and Grissom's clothes and the unknown fibre to Hodges when she caught a glimpse of Nick through the layout room plate glass. He was hunched over the light table, his face scrunched into a frown as he swabbed the push-pull cap of the runner's water bottle he had found at the scene.

She stopped, wondering about interrupting him but decided not to. It was still too early for any results to be back and she would prefer not to be probed about their boss's private life. She didn't want to lie to her colleagues and friends and knew despite his assurances to the contrary that Grissom wasn't ready to face the endless questioning, the blatant staring and lab gossip or well-meant sympathy and certainly not the resulting lab enquiry. Besides, she was far too busy, she told herself; after Hodges, she still needed to go and see Wendy with the samples she had collected on Sara.

Unaware of Catherine's gaze on him, Nick moved on to the next piece of evidence, which he was turning over in his hand as he examined it with a magnifying glass. Catherine smiled to herself, thinking that if Sara's attacker left even a smidgen of evidence behind Grissom's team would find it.

Her phone vibrated on her hip. She juggled the evidence in her hands, pulled the cell off her belt, looked at the display and turned round headed back to her office.

Dumping her evidence on her desk she connected the call. "Jim-"

"How's Sara?" he asked without preamble. "I can't get a hold of Grissom."

"He's still at the hospital. Sara's out of surgery."

She went on to give him the details and extent of Sara's injuries and heard his pained gasp. There was a long silence and then Brass spoke again but Catherine could tell he was emotional. "And Gil?" he said. "How's he bearing up?"

"Not good. Not good at all. He blames himself."

"He would."

Catherine sighed. "I hardly…recognised him. His emotions are all over the place-"

"Wouldn't yours if your world had come crashing down around you?"

"Yeah, but it's more than that. There was something beside the pain and fear in his eyes – some kind of simmering anger that kept creeping up despite his best efforts to hide it; like it's only a matter of time before he snaps. He almost lost it entirely when I …" she thought about telling him about the potential sexual assault but instead settled for, "documented Sara's injuries."

"He was present throughout?" Brass asked with utter disbelief.

"He didn't give me a choice," she sighed. "I…let him…he did the documenting himself, Jim." Her voice had been rising steadily and she let out a long breath. "I honestly don't think he would have let anyone else than himself touch her. I don't think he's going to leave her side anytime soon, Jim."

"You _let_ him?" Brass repeated in amazement and then paused. "Catherine," he said reproachfully but calmly, "you know better than that, even for Grissom."

"I know," she retorted irritably. She took a deep calming breath and said in a whisper, "He is broken, Jim."

"Catherine, you sound like she's already dead." The detective sounded disparaged and irritated.

Catherine clenched her eyes shut, chastising herself for how she was handling the situation. "I'm sorry, Jim but the last few hours have been..." she sighed letting her words trail. "You got to understand that Gil's falling apart and I thought doing the documenting might help him. Make him feel like he is helping." She shrugged helplessly. "I'm his friend; I'm worried about him. What was I supposed to do?"

Brass let out a drawn-out breath but dropped the subject. Instead he asked, "Do the guys know?"

Catherine shook her head and smiled edgily. "I've been avoiding them but it's only a matter of time before they figure it out. Jim, what do I do?"

"You…let them figure it out…in their own time. The fewer people suspect, the longer it'll take for the news to reach Ecklie. Make sure Grissom's name's nowhere near any of the evidence he gathered if we want it to stand up in court."

Catherine nodded into the phone; she'd already tagged every single scrap of evidence collected by Grissom with her initials. "Talking about evidence," she said, "I didn't mention to him the lack of defensive wounds on her, Jim. I don't think Grissom even noticed; he certainly didn't mention it."

"Oh, he noticed all right," Brass replied, a hint of alarm creeping up in his voice. "He's doing what he does best; keep it all bottled up inside."

"There wasn't a scratch on her arms or hands," Catherine insisted, swivelling round in her chair, away from view from the rest of the lab. "I don't think she had much of a chance to fight back-"

"She grabbed a piece of that scumbag, Catherine, and his or her earring."

"She did." Catherine rubbed her face wearily with her free hand. "You're right Jim. She did."

She heard Brass instruct one of his men and then say, "I'm in the Blue Moon on Bellevue – DB," he grumbled as an explanation but not unkindly.

Catherine's shoulders slumped. "Oh, sorry; I completely forgot about that. Who do you want me to send?"

"Rick's here; he's got it covered. Don't worry about it."

Catherine sighed. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. As soon as I'm done here, I'm headed to Desert Palm."

"Okay. Good. He's going to need us, Jim. He won't admit it but we need to be there for him."

"We will."

A pause and then Catherine got up from her desk chair. "Listen Jim, I've still got quite a bit to do."

"Sure – me too. Keep me posted, will you?"

"Yeah." With no more time to lose, Catherine hung up and picked up the evidence from the top of her desk headed for Hodges' and Wendy's labs respectively.

* * *

"Wendy!" Catherine glanced back down the corridor making sure no one was within earshot and shut the plate glass door behind her.

The DNA tech looked up from loading the centrifuge and smiled at Catherine expectantly. "Do you have any news? Greg's been calling the hospital but all they tell him is that she's out of surgery and in the ICU. They won't give him any more detail over the phone and-"

"She's critical," Catherine said with a small smile. "We'll know more in the morning when they run some tests on her."

Wendy's smile faded and she nodded in understanding.

"Is this the evidence from under Sara's nails?" Catherine asked with a nod toward the centrifuge.

Wendy looked at the device as though seeing it for the first time. She shook her head. "No. This is for days."

"Oh." Catherine's face fell in obvious disappointment. She knew Wendy was under a lot of pressure and her backlog was impressive but thought maybe she would have prioritised Sara's case.

"But I got this for you," the DNA tech continued a little more cheerfully and with an arch of her brow. She leaned over to pick up a manila folder from her workstation, which she handed to Catherine.

The CSI's eyes widened in delight. "Wendy…Wendy…," she said for want of something better. She opened the file and avidly scanned the results.

"There were enough epithelial on the stud earring Sara pulled and in the skin cells Brass recovered from under her nails to extract DNA," Wendy surmised enthusiastically. "Both samples come from the same male. I've got it running through CODIS as we speak but no hits so far."

Catherine nodded and looked up from the report. "Good. Excellent," she smiled tightly. "What about the blood from the bench? Is it a match to Sara's?"

"Well, I used a strand of Sara's hair that I took from the hairbrush she keeps in her locker as you suggested as a comparison sample but I haven't got the results for that yet. I'll text you with them as soon as I get them."

"Thank you," Catherine replied a little distractedly. She reached for the swab box she had in her pocket and toyed nervously with it.

Thinking the conversation over, Wendy reached for the next trey of samples she needed to test but stopped on noticing that Catherine hadn't made a move to leave her lab. "Catherine?" she asked hesitantly. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The CSI took a breath and looked up and then she made herself meet Wendy's gaze. She waited a beat, smiling anxiously. "Wendy," she said pushing her hair back tensely, "what time does your shift end today?"

Wendy pulled a puzzled face. "At ten," she replied. "But I'm willing to work overtime on this," she added quickly.

Catherine smiled warmly. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that." She paused. She could have asked Greg to run the samples of course, he certainly had the skills required but Catherine doubted his ability to handle knowing about a potential rape on Sara. She felt that as a woman Wendy would be able to cope better. She strongly hoped she wouldn't be proved wrong. Her decision made, she went for it. "I need you to process this ASAP." She hesitated for a fraction of a second and then handed Wendy the box.

The tech took the box and turned it over in her hands, a frown appearing on her face. "What kind of sample is it?" she asked, flicking her glance up from the box to Catherine. "It's not labelled."

Catherine sighed. "No, it isn't," she replied confidently. "I need you to promise me the utmost discretion on this. You do not mention this to anyone – and I mean _anyone_." She stared meaningfully at Wendy, who gave her a small nod of the head in reply. "If someone asks – _anyone_ – you send them to me. I take full responsibility for this."

Wendy registered a look of surprise and swallowed hard but didn't question Catherine. "It might be easier if I knew what I was looking at," she said gravely.

Catherine nodded her head, scanning her gaze through the plate glass window. Across the way, she could see Hodges bent over his microscope, his back turned away, hopefully working on matching the two sets of wood fragments. The remainder of the corridor looked deserted. She turned back to Wendy who was waiting patiently for an explanation.

"It's a vaginal swab," the CSI said dropping her voice to a whisper. "I want you to do a full DNA profile on it. Then I want you to compare the semen DNA to the male DNA we recovered at the scene you got running through CODIS." Wendy gasped and tilted her head to the side immediately understanding the implications of what Catherine was telling her and the reasons for all the secrecy. "I want you to alert me immediately if it's a match." She reached into her jacket pocket for a bindle. "If it isn't, I want you to run it against DNA from this hair sample."

Speechless, Wendy nodded and took the unlabeled bindle Catherine was holding out.

"Can I trust you with this?" Catherine asked in a small voice. "You understand why I'm having to do this, don't you?"

Wendy looked up decisively and smiled. "Absolutely," she nodded. "Mum's the word. I'll get on it straightaway."

* * *

Tbc.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I'm hoping to be able to update at the weekend. As a thank you for the wonderful reviews, here's the next update, a little earlier than planned. Have a good week, Sylvie.

* * *

Greg popped his head round the layout room door. "Hey, Nick, you seen Catherine?"

Nick looked up, a frown on his face and turned towards Greg. "Huh?"

"Catherine?"

Nick shook his head and got back to examining Sara's crime scene photos laid out in front of him on the light table.

"Warrick?" Greg asked. Nick didn't seem to have heard him. "Tall, dark and good looking – or so I'm told?" Greg tried.

"DB off the Strip somewhere," the Texan replied distractedly, picking up the plastic water bottle he had found at the park. "I think he's wrapping it up."

Greg stepped in and scanned his gaze over the photographs. "How are you getting on? Need a hand with anything?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I'm good." He paused, putting the bottle down and then looked at Greg hesitantly. He took a breath, glanced toward the door and motioned with his head for Greg to shut it. He waited until the latter had before speaking. "Hum, you…found anything…" he sighed, hesitating, "unusual about your evidence?"

Greg shrugged. "Unusual how?"

Nick opened his mouth, swaying his head from side to side in uncertainty and then shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know…like too many prints from the same two people?"

Greg pursed his face in thought. "Well, I found_ no _usable prints on Hank's collar and leash or on the dog catcher pole," he mused, "plenty of smudges and partials, probably Grissom's or Sara's. I'm assuming the attacker or 'ers' wore gloves, but…well, now that you mention it…Sara's prints are all over the underside of Hank's collar, which I thought a little weird at first but you know…I figured she probably put the collar on Hank herself before her run."

"Yeah, about that," Nick mused. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "What's all that stuff about Sara with Hank in the first place?" he then asked. "How long has _that_ been going on, huh? Not that long ago _I_ was Sara's running partner." Nick gave a nod of his head toward the water bottle in the evidence bag on the light table. "And then I get this. I found it near the bench. It's got Sara's prints on it." Greg pulled a face in 'a well, isn't it obvious; it must be hers' kind of way. "Yeah," Nick argued, "but how do you explain Grissom's prints all over it too?"

"I don't." Greg shrugged and then thought about it for a moment. "Sara goes round to Grissom's to pick Hank up for her run. Maybe she's doing Griss a favour. She puts her water bottle down on the table and he passes it back to her."

"Okay. So how do you explain his thumb print inside the pull-push cap?"

Greg was starting to see where Nick was going with his argument. "She…forgot her bottle and borrowed his?" he asked unconvincingly.

"And then there's the pool of vomit," Nick carried on.

"What pool of vomit?"

Nick scanned the pictures and picked one up. "This one. On the grass; where Griss found Sara?"

Greg studied the photograph. "Any DNA?"

"I'm sure there's plenty but I haven't bothered getting it tested. According to Brass, it's Grissom's."

"Shit!"

"Warrick's reaction exactly."

Greg let out a short sigh. "If you're correct in your assumption, it would explain why he's still at the hospital and not here working the case-"

"And why Catherine's been so evasive," Nick added.

Greg nodded. "Well, I can't say I'm entirely surprised. There's always been history between those two," he mused out loud, "but I never thought Grissom capable of acting on his feelings."

Nick spread his hands out, palms up and stared at Greg incredulously while shaking his head in disbelief.

"You really think we're on the right track with this?" Greg asked.

"When have you ever seen Grissom do as Ecklie asks?" Nick retorted.

Greg's eyes were wide with astonishment. "Man, this is huge," he exclaimed, "and potentially disastrous. No wonder Catherine's keeping a low profile. You think she knows?"

"I don't think she knew before this but now, I believe she's covering for him – for them and we must do the same."

Greg nodded. He paused in thought. "You got any luck with the hospital?"

"Nah. I get the same as you-"

"The 'I'm afraid we can't discuss Ms Sidle's condition over the phone' line?"

Nick nodded with a sigh. "Yeah."

* * *

Catherine manoeuvred the Denali through the familiar streets of the West Sahara district of northwest Vegas, trying to remember the last time she had driven this route. She just couldn't. A year? More? She parked up in front of the house, closed her eyes, leaning her head against the steering wheel and let out a heavy sigh.

2205 Beach Front Drive. She checked her watch: 6.24. The day was still young._ Come on, Catherine! In and out. You take what you need and you leave._

She walked up the path toward the house, scanning her surroundings. Dawn was only just breaking, the street was deserted and despite herself Catherine let out an audible yawn. The two-door garage was situated to the left of the property, both owners' cars parked alongside each other in front of it.

She took the steps up to the front door and eased the key she had been entrusted with into the lock, glancing at the scratch marks etched into the wood panelling of the door. She remembered from her previous visits that the house was fitted with an alarm system but figured Grissom would have mentioned it if it was on.

He would have, wouldn't he? Still she proceeded with care, just in case. She took a few steps forward, expecting the alarm to blare at anytime but it didn't and she closed the door carefully after her.

The fast-flickering images of a women's basketball game on ESPN were the only light in the room. The house was bathed in an eerie silence due to the bright but muted pictures on the TV screen. The smell of stale beer was the next thing she noticed. She took off her sunglasses and put them in her purse.

Making her way over to the lounge to switch the TV off, she took in with a wistful smile, Grissom's empties, the half-full bag of potato chips lying open on the low table and the previous day's paper opened at the crossword page. Her smile broadened and she picked it up, glancing at the neat lettering filling in the squares surprised to recognise Sara's careful script and not Grissom's.

She looked up and was putting the paper down, wondering whether Sara had also taken up riding roller coasters or cockroach racing in her spare time, when she caught sight of the baseball bat lying on the couch and the source of the smell, a small pool of spilled beer staining the hardwood floor.

_I'm going to need to clean that up, _she thought,_ or the parquet'll be ruined_.

Her smile died from her lips as she realized that her friend'shappy, carefree afternoon spent relaxing at home and watching a ball game had turned into his worstnightmare. She could very well imagine the panic and terror that must have filled his mind when Hank had raised the alarm; it wasn't that long ago she thought Lindsay was in mortal danger and Eddie had died.

She crouched down on her hands and knees and peered under the couch locating the long-necked bottle that had rolled underneath it. She pulled it out and carefully placed it with the other empties on the table.

The couch was new. _Nice leather_, she mused brushing her hand over the material. _The old one had been so uncomfortable._ Some new, brighter artwork adorned the walls, interspersed with Grissom's more entomologically-based pieces. Sara's work boots lay discarded at the top of the steps, her black leather jacket hanging on the free-standing coat tree,next to the well-worn brown suede one Grissom was rather fond of wearing lately.

And that's when it hit her; this wasn't just Grissom's home anymore but Sara's too. They weren't just _seeing_ each other; they _lived_ together, as in a fully-committed-to-each-other kind of relationship and she hadn't noticed. _Wow,_ thought Catherine. _Who would have thought, huh, that they had it in them to build a home together?_ That certainly went some way to explaining Grissom's overwhelming distress and desolation.

She smiled sadly and took a moment, scanning the rest of the townhouse with interest, looking down onto the open plan kitchen. Again, it was as she remembered it and yet, it wasn't.

Catherine shook herself out of her melancholy and made her way down the steps, noticing Sara's PD-issued cell on the island as well as Grissom's car keys. Her stomach rumbled loudly reminding her she hadn't had anything to eat in nearly twenty-four hours. Knowing she still had a long day ahead of her, she helped herself to one of the inviting apples from the fruit bowl, taking a big, hungry bite. She picked up Hank's water bowl off the floor and emptied it in the sink with her free hand. She located the dog food under the sink as instructed and then went in search of his basket, a blanket or anything that would make the boxer feel more at home at hers. Her exploration soon led her to the master bedroom.

She stopped at the open door, the half-eaten apple hanging midway to her mouth. She had never set foot in this room before. The few times she had been at Grissom's in the past she'd never needed to pry – _not that I am prying now,_ she thought sadly.

The room was bathed in streaks of dawning sunshine filtering in through the slats of the venetian blinds. The drapes were pulled wide, the room tidy, the bed made, with a deep aubergine chenille blanket folded neatly at the foot of it. Hank's cushion had its place in the corner of the room, in a basket and she smiled, shaking her head at that. _Well, you won't be sleeping in my room_, she mused with a small shudder.

Suddenly Catherine felt an overwhelming sadness, as though she was somehow intruding in Grissom and Sara's personal space, seeing a side of their life she wasn't really privy to. She picked up Hank's basket and the aubergine blanket and quietly pulled the bedroom door shut before retracing her steps to the kitchen. She finished the apple, loaded Hank's belongings in the basket and left quickly, forgetting about cleaning up.

When she reached her car, she felt edgy and uneasy. As she opened the trunk of the Denali, her cell beeped twice, alerting her to an incoming text message. _What now!_ she sighed in weariness. She put her load away and read Warrick's message.

_Done at the Moon. Warrant for CCTV at the park's through. On way to picking it up now. See you back at CSI._

Catherine smiled. "Gook work, Warrick," she said out loud, getting behind the wheel. She sped off down the road, lowering the sun visor to obscure the rising sun, not paying much attention to the battered and dusty tenth generation Ford Thunderbird driving past.

* * *

Margaret picked up the end of Sara's EEG paper printout and studied it for longer than was necessary, knowing she was being watched. Not overtly of course but she could see the corner of his eyes follow her every move. It only took her a second to see that there were no changes in her patient's brain activity and she directed her attention to checking the heart monitor data output and then carried out her other duties.

It all looked fine. The patient was stable.

She checked her watch, glancing at the man still in the same position in the hospital chair. He was mumbling now, either talking to himself or the patient, she couldn't be sure but what she knew for certain was that he loved her very much. That much she could see in his eyes, in the hopeful, optimistic way he looked at her. His hand never left hers and he frequently brought it up to his face, to his mouth, to his cheek, never breaking contact. She had seen it before of course, the helpless hope, the unwavering belief that the loved one would wake up as if by magic and get back to who they once were and how it was before.

Sadly, in her experience it hardly ever was the case. She walked round to the other side of the bed and touched him gently on the arm.

Grissom startled a little before acknowledging the nurse with a small smile. "Any change?" he asked in a low voice.

"I'm afraid not," Margaret replied with an apologetic shrug.

Grissom nodded his head quietly and resumed watching Sara. This was the extent of the conversation that took place every half-hour or so, every time Margaret came round to do Sara's obs. This time, she hung around a little longer and busied herself straightening the starched bed sheet.

"Listen, huh, my shift ends in an hour," she said hesitantly, before taking a breath, uncertain how best to proceed. She stopped what she was doing and looked at Grissom. "I…I promised your friend earlier that I would make sure you took a shower and had something to eat." Grissom opened his mouth to protest, already shaking his head in the negative. "I know," she cut in kindly and with a smile, placing her hand on his arm warmly, "I know you don't want to leave her side but there is a shower in the nurses' changing room at the end of the corridor. You could get cleaned up there and I promise to let you know if…there is any change in your wife's condition."

Grissom was about to refuse but the sad look of sympathy, the well-meant pity he saw in the nurse's gaze stopped him. It was just too much for him to look at. He sighed heavily and looked down at himself, clad in creased surgical scrubs, and suddenly felt very grubby. He glanced up, briefly meeting the nurse's gaze. "You will watch her for me?" he asked in a murmur.

Margaret smiled nodding her head.

Losing himself under the hot spray of the shower and alone with his thoughts, he allowed his emotion to take the better of him. As the water hit his face washing Sara's blood off him it also washed off everything he had left of her on him; her smell, evidence of her touch on his skin but also he felt evidence of her love for him – everything flowing down the drain with no guarantee of return.

He clenched his eyes closed in an effort to stop his head from spinning, allowing his tears to escape before breaking down dejectedly, alone, in the cubicle. Suddenly wracked by uncontrollable sobs, he collapsed to his knees unable to carry the burden of his guilt any longer. He blindly reached up for the taps and turned them both in opposing ways, wincing as the almost scolding hot water turned icy.

Why should he feel warm outside when inside his heart felt cold and dead?

"_Grissom, come take a look at this," Sara said. "Mineral or vegetal? I've never seen anything like it." _

_Grissom looked up from the case file he was perusing, peering over the top of his glasses. Sara was bent over the microscope in Trace; Hodges had the night off. One hand held her hair back to the nape of her neck, out of the way; the other was busy adjusting the focus on the device. She'd been studying the same piece of evidence for some time now; a puzzled facial shrug had replaced her usually cool exterior rendering her utterly adorable. _

_Irresistible, desirable, sexy even, he thought as he stared at the soft, pale line of her exposed neck. _

_His heart swelled with a heady mixture of feelings. Pride, of course that such young beauty had chosen him but also infinite love and devotion, and fulfilment too. He understood that now; some would complain it had taken him long enough._

_Grissom didn't make a move to her. Instead, he put down the file and slowly took off his reading glasses. He reached back over his shoulder, quietly toggled the blinds shut and pushed himself off the worktop he was leaning against to shut the door. _

_On hearing the door shutting, Sara didn't look up. Instead, her frown shifted from puzzled to annoyed at her boss's lack of response and she wondered for a split second whether he had done his usual disappearing stealth act on her. _

_But no. He was still there. She could feel it; she could hear his not-so-calm-and-steady breathing, the only sound in the lab. She could feel his gaze boring in the back of her head._

_Sara smiled. _

_When she looked up from the microscope, a knowing, playful grin had replaced the smile on her lips. When she turned toward him though, she found him staring but not in the way she was expecting. _

_He looked serious, stern even._

_Her grin died. "What?" she asked, looking around her a little uncertainly. Suddenly feeling self-conscious and a little nervous under his scrutiny she smoothed her hair back from her face and readjusted her lab coat. "What have I done now?"_

_Grissom lifted a casual shoulder in reply, his poker face on, and joined her side. He bent over the microscope, looked in the eyepiece, casually saying, "Move in with me."_

_Sara startled and looked around worriedly for prying ears and eyes but of course, there were none. "Don't be stupid."_

_He looked up from the microscope and stared at her, looking grave. "I'm being serious."_

_Sara's gaze turned sad and longing. Then she looked down toward his chest, hooking a finger in the belt loop of his pants, and gently pulled him toward her. "We can't live together. You know that."_

_He swivelled round fully to face her and paused. He sighed, lifting his hand to her face and brushed her hair back very gently. Then he lifted her chin up until she had no choice but look him in the eye. He smiled confidently. "We'll make it work. No one will know." _

_Sara didn't say anything. She just stared sadly at him. _

"_Okay," he said pursing his lips in thought, "you drive a hard bargain." He took a small breath, nodded his head back toward the microscope and then smiled mischievously. "I tell you what _this_ is, if you say yes."_

_Sara shook her head but couldn't help the ensuing giggle. "Yes."_

_His brow lifted in astonishment. "Yes?"_

"_Yes."_

_He stared at her open-mouthed and then grinned stupidly. Finally he turned round on his heels, headed toward the door. He opened it and left without a backward glance, leaving Sara to gape at the open door in disbelief. _

_She shook her head __in mild exasperation__ but the grin on her face was wide and blissful. As she returned her attention to the slide under the microscope, she heard him call happily back from the corridor, "Oh, and Sara? Agrostis Hyemalis is what you're looking for._ _And it's not_ _indigenous to this area."_

"Oh Sara," Grissom whispered forlornly as he numbly got to his feet under the freezing spray of the shower. Although his teeth were chattering he didn't feel the cold. His gaze was dark, brooding and distant. "My dear Sara, you gave it me all. You gave me your love without asking for mine in return, without suffocating or judging me. You gave me joy and a new purpose. You loved me unconditionally and-"

Suddenly he heard a sound, someone entering the changing room and he turned the cold tap off. There was a quiet tap at the shower stall door, followed by a louder one and then by Margaret's distressed voice. "Sir?"

Grissom pulled the shower curtain back, reaching for the towel on the hook. "Yes?"

"You need to hurry, please."

* * *

Tbc.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Your response and encouragement is AMAZING and truly inspiring, so again thank you. Keep your comments coming; one or two innocuous things mentioned in passing have already made way for some new ideas, so that's great. I was trying to keep the chapter lengths in control but I just couldn't break up this chapter. Have a nice weekend!

* * *

The harried nurse left as quickly as she had appeared without giving Grissom any further reassurance or explanation. By the time he rushed out of the shower cubicle he was once again alone with his conscience and his repentant thoughts.

How long had he remained in the shower wallowing in his self-pity when he should have been watching Sara? How could he have lost track of time like that?

His frantic movements seemed to match the frenetic drumming in his chest. Not bothering to towel himself dry, Grissom hastily put on the clothes Catherine had brought for him over his still glistening wet body. He pulled at them clumsily and with shaky hands, dispensing with buttons and fastenings, furiously cursing at himself for leaving Sara's side.

He had no time to lose. He needed to get back to her. She had needed him and for the second time, he hadn't been there for her.

He sighed heavily, his heart shuddering in his chest. He rapidly shoved everything back into the bag and his feet into his running shoes and wrenched the changing room door open only to be hit full force by a loud cacophony of raised voices and alarms going off – voices of doctors giving instructions, of nurses relaying information, seemingly shouting to be heard over the piercing sound of the beeping machines.

Yet from his vantage point, he could see nothing.

_Oh, dear God!_ _Sara…_

He took off sprinting the twenty yards or so separating him from her room. The adrenaline madly pumping through his system fuelled his movement, his unrelenting and thundering heartbeat echoing his heavy footfalls on the linoleum flooring. He never let go of the bag that was hindering his progress.

He had barely made it halfway down the corridor before a deafening silence descended upon the ICU and upon him. It was as though sound had been muted, as though his brain had shut down. It was suddenly so quiet that all he could hear was the hissing of blood in his ear.

_Oh, no._

The adrenaline that had been coursing through his body seemed to leave him, making him weak and light-headed. Despite the cold shower he felt hot and clammy, sweat beading on his face. He slowed down his running, leaning his hand out against the corridor wall for support as though the rug was pulled from underneath him. The ache in his heart intensified and he brought his hand up, clutching his chest. He closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths and the pain seemed to subside. Breathless and his eyes fixed on the open door ahead, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and on reaching Sara.

He gingerly stepped inside the room and froze staring wide-eyed at the sight before him.

The room was in disarray yet totally silent. Pieces of equipment and discarded packaging littered the floor. Various people stood in front of the bed obscuring the body. A doctor he hadn't seen before was calmly replacing the resuscitation paddles back on the stand, declaring time of death. Grissom watched unblinkingly as Margaret disconnected the breathing tube from the body's mouth with a sad shake of the head. He swayed on his feet uncertainly and then closed his eyes, attempting to stop the room from spinning wildly out of control.

Noticing Grissom stood at the door about to collapse, the ICU intern quickly instructed Margaret to go see to him. The nurse registered a look of surprise and then nodded at the doctor. She quickly reached Grissom's side, slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, helping him support himself.

"Sir, please, you shouldn't be here," she said quietly, turning to shut the door after them. She then led him numbly to the adjacent hospital room, which was empty. "Are you going to be all right?" she asked him kindly but Grissom was too numb to respond and could only stand rigidly. "You can wait here, if you'd like," she added leading him to a chair that had been pushed against the wall. "It shouldn't take them more than an hour."

Grissom shook his head in confusion and blinked at her words. A look of blind fury replaced his stupor. "You expect me to wait here while Sara lies dead next door?" he shouted, making Margaret jump back in fright.

"Sir, please calm down," Margaret said, her gaze pained as she realised what Grissom was thinking. She let out a long pitiful breath. "Sara's not dead," she reassured quickly as though talking to a small child. "This is her bedroom, here." Grissom turned toward the nurse his eyes disbelieving and then looked around the room. "Sara hasn't died," Margaret repeated with assurance, "they took her down to radiology." She smiled kindly. "That's what I came to tell you when you were in the shower but then we had the emergency next door and…" she shrugged helplessly in apology.

"This is her room?" Grissom repeated disbelievingly in a small voice. His anger was gone and he stared at the room as though seeing it for the first time. "She isn't dead?"

Margaret smiled, shaking her head. "No. She is downstairs; they took her down for a brain scan." She paused, letting her words sink. "Do you remember? Dr Flanders spoke to you about it last night."

As though his life line, Grissom gripped the sports bag tightly with both hands, his gaze fixed, staring blankly at a spot on the wall just above the vacant space of Sara's bed, and then slowly nodded his head in reply. As Margaret's words finally registered with him, relief flooded him and his breathing returned to a more normal rhythm.

_Sara hasn't died,_ he kept telling himself. _She hasn't died. She's still alive._

"You can wait here if you want," the nurse continued. "They'll bring her back up as soon as they finish the scan. It won't take long; radiology's quiet at this time of the morning."

Grissom blinked, biting the corner of his bottom lip in anxiety. He turned toward the nurse and managed a small smile. "Thank you," he said in a low voice, "but I need to be with Sara. I need to see her, make sure she's okay. If you don't mind I'll wait for her in radiology." He moved to leave and then turned round again, suddenly looking very lost. "Can…you point me in the right direction?"

* * *

"Hey, Cindy? Hi, it's-"

"Nick Stokes," Cindy cut in, the pleasure on hearing the Texan's voice evident, "unless someone else's calling from your phone, obviously. But you know," she continued, laughing, "I'd recognise this southern drawl anywhere. I wasn't expecting a call today, though," she added over Nick's nervous chuckle. "It's been a while."

"Sorry," Nick replied, "been busy with work. You know what it's like." He paused suddenly. "You at work, aren't you? I'm not getting you out of bed?"

"Nah," Cindy sighed wearily. "I'm at work all right. Been a long shift."

"You finish at the usual time?"

"Yeah. Why, you want to catch breakfast?" she asked with a hopeful cheeriness she wasn't feeling a second ago.

"Oh, I'd love to, Cind," Nick replied, his tone apologetic. "You know I would but…not today, hey? Rain check?"

"Sure." Cindy's disappointment was evident.

Nick paused. "Listen, the reason I'm calling. I wondered if you could do me a favour. You see, a friend of mine was assaulted last night and brought in to Desert Palm and…I haven't been able to get any news on her condition at all. You think you could find out for me?"

"Sure. What's her name?"

"Sara. Sara Sidle."

"Sara? As in 'Sara and the guys from work' Sara?"

"Yeah. I'm real worried about her. She was brought in at around 5.30, yesterday afternoon. All I know is that she took a blow to the back of the head and that she's out of surgery but critical."

"She's probably in the ICU then. I know someone there; I'll see what I can do and get back to you as soon as I can."

"Thanks sweetie. I owe you one." He paused. "In fact, breakfast's on me next time."

"It always is Nicky," Cindy replied with a soft giggle.

* * *

The wait was long even though technically probably no longer than the hour Margaret had mentioned. As could be expected and not through lack of trying, Grissom hadn't been allowed anywhere near Sara and could only stare through the plate glass at the scanner. From his vantage point, he could just make out Sara's feet and he was grateful for that. As long as he could see her, he knew she was all right. And as long as she was alive, he would be fine.

Eventually and without a word to him, they wheeled her back up to her room in the ICU, Grissom mutely following behind. Dr Flanders, as well as some other doctors Grissom didn't recognise, seemed to have been waiting for Sara's return and as soon as Grissom made to enter the door, Margaret gently placed her hand on his chest, with a look and a smile that seemed to tell him "You hang tight; I'll let you know as soon as they've finished," and closed the door in his face.

Still clutching his sports bag in his hand, Grissom stood rigidly and dumbstruck he stared blindly at the room number stuck on the door. After a moment, he turned round, his head hung low, slowly headed for the lonely chair by the nurse's station. He was back to waiting, alone once again with his thoughts.

"_Hey boss," Warrick greeted tiredly as he entered the locker room. "Long shift." Grissom turned and acknowledged the CSI's words with a nod. "You clocking off?"_

"_Yeah," Grissom answered quietly. He smiled, got his jacket out of his locker before shutting the door with a little clang and locking it, and then headed out of the room. He paused as he got to Warrick's level and watched hesitantly as the CSI removed his CSI vest and tidied it away in his locker. He waited until Warrick was deftly pulling his T-shirt off over his head to speak. "Listen, Warrick, huh, about the roster change. I know it was short-noticed but I appreciate you swapping your night off with Sara."_

"_Yeah? Don't worry about it," Warrick replied. He balled up the dirty T-shirt and threw it down on the bench behind him. "She looked like she needed it." He shrugged. "Tina's got to go into work anyway."_

"_How are things with you and…Tina?"_

_Warrick registered a look of surprise that his boss should know about his marital problems. "You know," he mused with a ready smile and a shrug of his shoulders, "wearing the ring's not everything." To Grissom's arched brow, he explained, "It's not easy being married, man. Can't just come and go as you please." He paused in thought. _

_Grissom shrugged mildly but couldn't help the smug smile pulling at his lips. _

_Warrick was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice. "Well," he mused, slipping a clean, crisp white shirt off the hanger in the locker and shrugging it on, "I guess you wouldn't know anything about that though, would you?"_

"_Guess not," Grissom replied quietly, still smiling to himself. "Anyway," he added fidgeting with the keys in his hand, "I'll see you for shift tomorrow night. Enjoy Tahoe and stay out of mischief."_

_Warrick paused buttoning his shirt and stared at Grissom in astonishment. Then he shook the idea out of his head. "Will do," he replied with a soft chuckle._

_Grissom nodded and turned his back on Warrick, and as he left he bid goodbye to Bobby Dawson ambling down the corridor._

"_Oh, and Griss?" Warrick called, popping his head out of the locker room. Grissom turned. "Put a c-note down for me __on the boys in blue, will you?" _

_Grissom's face lit up. "You sure?"_

"_Yeah, man. Once in a lifetime, you said so yourself. Besides, the word on the street's that it's a dead cert anyway."_

_Grissom's face twisted in amusement and he winked his thanks at Warrick. "See you tomorrow night," he called joyfully over his shoulder. _

"Sir?"

Grissom sprung to his feet. "Yes?"

The neurosurgeon intern extended his right hand. "Dr Vandenberg. Pleased to meet you."

Grissom didn't shake the proffered hand. "Where's Dr Flanders?"

"He's been called away to an emergency in the ER, I'm afraid," the intern replied, dropping his hand to his side. "If you'd like to come with me, we can discuss Sara's condition in his office."

Grissom pulled a face as he thought about it and then sighed, "Very well," before following the intern down the corridor and through to some offices, away from the main ICU area. "Is his emergency going to take long?" he asked as he was shown a seat.

"I don't know. If you'd rather wait…" the man shrugged his indifference, "but Dr Flanders will only echo what I'm about to say." He paused long enough for Grissom to sit down and set the sports bag down by his feet, and then cleared his throat. "The tests are conclusive, Mr Grissom. This morning's CT scan confirms what we feared and told you last night," he said confidently. "It shows-"

"Dr Flanders said you'd do an MRI," Grissom cut in. "They're generally more detailed and clearer than head CT's."

Dr Vandenberg's eyebrows rose as he nodded his agreement with Grissom's words. "Ideally we would have but the life-support equipment the patient's dependent upon cannot safely enter the scanner area and as you know-"

"Sara," Grissom said, his annoyance beginning to show as he shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the chair. The intern looked up with a start and then shook his head absently. "You said 'the patient'," Grissom explained brusquely, "her name is _Sara_."

Dr Vandenberg smiled nervously. "Sorry." He swallowed and paused trying to recall his previous train of thought. He took a breath and continued, "I'm afraid the scan revealed that…_Sara_'s brain damage is far more extensive than we first believed. The further neurological tests we performed on her this morning show no clinical evidence of brain function, echoing the tomographic images from the scan. She shows no response to pain; no cranial nerve reflexes and no spontaneous respiration."

Grissom flinched. "You turned the ventilator off?"

A brief smile flashed across the doctor's face, showing his discomfort. "Only for a very short while…while we carried out the physical examination, Mr Grissom. But I'm afraid we've come to the conclusion that…that Sara is what, in the medical profession, we call…_clinically_ dead."

"Clinically dead?" Grissom repeated in a barely audible whisper, clearly in shock.

"Yes." The doctor paused, pursing his face in thought. "It means that…her brain isn't capable of performing its basic vital functions anymore. She's totally dependent on the life-support machine and other equipment to keep her alive. Her brain's not sending any-"

"I know what it means," Grissom snapped angrily. He rested his elbows on his thighs and ran his hands over his face and then to the back of his head in a frantic motion. Then, his body began gently rocking back and forth and he looked up, shaking his head. "You're wrong," he exclaimed loudly, "you've made a mistake. Dr Flanders said _some_ brain damage. He said that…" he shook his head again, "…surely you haven't given her and her body enough time to recover from the trauma to make such diagnosis."

The doctor lifted his hand to interrupt Grissom. "Sir, please you need to listen to me; the bleeding in her-"

"No, _you_ listen to me," Grissom nearly shouted as his distress got the better of him. "You're going to do another scan and carry out the tests again and get a second opinion – and then a third. Sara's young and strong…you're not giving her a chance. You're not giving her enough time to get better." He got up to his feet and leaned forward, palms flat on the desk facing the seated Vandenberg. He was yelling now, his angry frustrations spilling out of him uncontrollably. "I'm not going to let you write her off. Do you hear me?"

Dr Vandenberg sighed and lifted a hand, which he opened palm up, calmly inviting Grissom to sit down again.

Grissom didn't; instead he brought his hand to his face and turned away toward the door, taking a deep calming breath. He had had enough; he needed to get back to Sara. At that precise moment, there was a brief knock on the door and Grissom jumped back in surprise. The man, who put his head round and acknowledged Grissom with a polite nod, wore a pinstripe navy suit and a garish red tie and held a pile of documents in his hand. "Bill? Sorry to interrupt," he said, redirecting his gaze at the intern.

The latter got up from the desk, clearly relieved for the interruption, mouthed "Excuse me" to Grissom, and joined the older man in the corridor for a quiet word. Grissom was about to leave when both men stepped back in.

"Mr Grissom?" the man then said. Grissom frowned in confusion. "Could I have a quick word with you, please? I'm Paul Purcell, Desert Palm's hospital administrator." He opened his hand, inviting Grissom to sit down again. He waited until Grissom was seated and then took the other chair.

"Hospital administrator?" Grissom asked tentatively. "Is there a problem with Sara's admission papers or medical insurance?"

Purcell smiled a little tightly and set down the documents he was holding on the desk, stalling for time. "No. No, no. Nothing like that." He shifted on the chair uncomfortably and shared a look with Dr Vandenberg.

Grissom studied the man for a moment and then a knowing grin creased across his face. He flicked his gaze to Vandenberg, who had resumed his seat behind the desk, but his grin morphed into a thin pinched line and he shook his head in disbelief. "I know what this is about," he mused dejectedly, "and I won't let you do it." His eyes darkened angrily. "I don't care how much it costs to keep her in ICU until she gets better. I don't care if it takes months and you need the space. You can't just do one set of tests and give up on her."

"We're not. We won't. Of course we won't but-"

"She's beaten the odds before," Grissom continued, talking over the hospital administrator. "She will do it again." His voice broke. He paused, looking down to his lap and tried to compose himself but he was too riled up to succeed. He sighed and met the hospital administrator's gaze. "You are going to do another scan."

"Sir," Purcell said with a tight smile, "we will. But all the tests in the world will tell you the same thing and won't bring her back. Sara's EEG is flat. She's not there anymore. The Sara you knew and loved isn't there anymore. She's gone. You need to prepare yourself and start saying goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Grissom repeated, shouting in disbelief. Sudden tears formed in his eyes and he turned away, wiping at them angrily. "No." He scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. "No. You must not have heard me," he spat angrily turning to glare at Vandenberg. "You're going to seek a second opinion. I don't give my consent for anything else."

"Is this what Sara would want?" Purcell asked quietly. He had been in this situation before. Grissom's reaction wasn't new; if anything, it was normal and understandable. Regardless he had a job to do; quotas to meet, budgets to take into account – these kinds of tests and beds in ICU didn't come cheap – and more importantly he had legal wheels to put in motion. "Would she want you to keep her alive on a life-support machine knowing she won't ever wake up?"

"As her next of kin, I'm entitled to make that decision for her."

Purcell pursed his face and let out a breath. "Well, in this case," he said, "you leave me with no alternative." He picked up and flicked through the documents he had brought with him and pulled out a sheet, which he scanned briefly. He looked up and held Grissom's gaze. "According to this, Mr Grissom, you're not Sara's next-of-kin."

Grissom blinked. His fists clenched into tight balls, his knuckles white with the strain, his nails digging into the palm of his hands. They shook with small tremors as he attempted to keep his frustration and rage under control. "That's not possible," he said but his emotion was showing through. "You've made a mistake. My name has always been down as Sara's next-of-kin, ever since she came to Vegas, even before we got together."

Purcell shook his head. "I'm very sorry Mr Grissom, but a legal next-of-kin in Nevada – and in most States for that matter – is a blood relative – and a close one at that – a parent, a sibling, or a spouse. A married spouse. And according to our information, you're not."

Grissom closed his eyes and slumped back on the chair, the wind knocked out of him. "I am Sara's family," he whispered, his anger suddenly replaced by cruel devastation.

"I'm very sorry, Sir," the man said, surprisingly managing to sound contrite. "Do you happen to have Sara's power of attorney, maybe?"

"No. She's so young…" He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and exhaled a shaky breath. The regret in his eyes was heartbreaking.

"Then you will need to get into contact with her family so they can make arrangements."

Grissom shook his head. "She doesn't have any."

"None at all?"

"Her father's passed and she's estranged from her mother and brother. She hasn't seen or spoken to them in fifteen years."

"That may be the case but one of them will need to be contacted."

"I don't know where to look."

Purcell smiled and got to his feet, putting an end to the conversation. "Sir, I know who you are; it won't take you long to find one of them."

"In the meantime," Dr Vandenberg said, also rising to his feet, "we will schedule another scan and physical examination for tomorrow morning."

"And if for whatever reasons you can't get a hold of one of Ms Sidle's next-of-kins," the hospital administrator added, "the hospital legal service will start proceedings in order to obtain a court order allowing us to make decisions regarding her future."

Grissom looked up sharply, glaring at both men but he slowly nodded his head, defeated. He picked up his bag and moved to the door. "Can I be with her now?"

Grissom wasn't asking permission and yet, there was an awkward silence while Vandenberg and Purcell shared a look and Grissom turned round, his face painfully twisted in bewildered astonishment as a sudden feeling of dread filled him.

* * *

Tbc.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Some dialogue gratefully borrowed from the episode 6.03 'Bite me' and hence, sadly isn't mine.

* * *

Sara was asleep. _Yes, that's right_, he thought with a pang of his heart, _asleep and in peace_. It was just too hard for him to think of her in any other way, to think of her in pain – or not, as the case may be.

"_She shows no response to pain; no cranial nerve reflexes and no spontaneous respiration,"_ echoed painfully in his mind.

_Senseless._ _Unfeeling_, he surmised, snorting in disbelief. Sara and the word just didn't fit together. Sara was nothing but full of feelings and emotion. His antithesis, some might say. But the love and emotion beating in Grissom's heart as he watched her tenderly, his eyes rimmed with unshed tears and their hands entwined as one, was as strong and powerful as Sara's.

Sara was asleep and she would wake up. He was sure of that. His lips pursed into the most loving smile at the thought. Her heart was still beating; she felt warm to his touch, her strength and fortitude ever present. She would fight and he would fight with her.

He would fight for her.

She would wake up; the alternative was just…unthinkable. His lips pursed together as he fought a new wave of desperation suddenly flooding him. It was too early for anything else. They had had so little time together. So little time. There were so many things he hadn't gotten to tell her.

He leaned forward, mere millimetres from her skin and slowly closed his eyes as he brushed his lips over her cheek. "I'm not ready to lose you, my darling," he whispered, his fingers curling around Sara's more tightly. "I'm not ready to let you go."

"_You need to prepare yourself and start saying goodbye",_ Purcell's words came to him and he flinched.

_Goodbye? _He pinched his lips together, shaking his head at the word. "I couldn't even say goodbye to you when you left for your run," he said in a murmur unable to take his eyes off her face, pale and injured and yet still beautiful and angelic as she slept.

It just wasn't time.

As she lay there immobile, her head heavily bandaged and the breathing tube sticking out of her mouth, he imagined her to be sleeping. How else could he cope? _A sleeping beauty_, he reflected cheerlessly and yet, the thought brought another sad, longing smile to his lips.

He felt bone-tired and listless. No, he felt dead and empty, powerless and helpless as the last nightmarish fifteen hours finally took their toll. He turned round and drew the hospital chair closer the bed, his strong grasp on her hand never loosening. Then sitting down, he brought his other hand up to his face and rubbed the weariness in his eyes. His lips wobbled, his features twisting in pain and despair as he thought about the gut-wrenching conversation with the hospital administrator.

He shook his head miserably and let go of her hand as he buried his face in the covers of the hospital bed, sobbing into the starched folds, choked with grief and regret.

"_Hey," Sara said with a nod to Grissom on noticing the beam of his flashlight shine into the bedroom. She redirected her light from his face to the floor and began talking through her observations. "Husband slept in the other room. His reading glasses are on the nightstand. Clothing's in the dresser…"_

"_That's odd," he mused. " A man and a woman who don't share a bedroom arrange to have a night alone, send their daughter to a relative, go out to dinner, have drinks by the pool, but they sleep in separate bedrooms."_

"_Maybe one of them snored or had insomnia or liked to work at night."_

"_Or maybe they were suffocating each other and he couldn't breathe."_

_Taken aback by his comment, Sara frowned. Then she turned and opened the nightstand drawer to find a small bottle, which she picked up. "Sexual lubricant. It's half empty. Sticky." She paused in thought. "You know, you don't have to sleep in the same bed together to have sex or ... have romance."_

_Grissom gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head. "I'm going to go see the doctor," he said turning, headed out of the bedroom._

"_I'll grid the house." Sara's expression became harder. "You…regret asking me to move in with you, is that it?" she asked his retreating form, a slight edge to her voice. "Because if it's the case, I can pack up my stuff and go back to my place." She paused, lowering her voice to a low whisper. "Leave you room to breathe. Plenty of room in fact."_

_Grissom stepped back into the room, looking utterly bewildered by the turn the conversation had taken, while Sara walked round the bed, storming past him. He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her flight. "No, Sara. No. You…" He took in a breath, releasing his grip on her arm. "I was just…talking about the case. Sara, I…"_

"_Grissom, you upstairs?" Warrick's voice boomed up from downstairs._

"_Please, Sara, can we talk about this at home?" Sara's eyebrows shot up but she didn't look at him. He sighed. "Yes, home. Our home. Please, you got this all wrong." _

_She lifted her shoulder in an 'I couldn't care less' manner. _

_Grissom sighed again and let go of her arm completely. Sara didn't move. He checked no one was at the door and moved his hand to her face, brushing his thumb along the ridge of her cheek. "Sara, please, I wasn't talking about us," he said quietly and pleadingly. "I love…what you and me have." She turned her face expectantly, staring straight into his eyes while he continued, "I-"_

"_Griss! Come and take a look at this," Warrick shouted up the stairs._

_He dropped his hand to his side with a helpless shrug. "I…gotta go."_

"_Yeah." Her voice was cold._

"_Sara…" he said in a warning tone, meaning that they were at work and it wasn't the time or place for an argument._

"_It's fine," she said tightly. "Warrick needs you. You should go."_

"Gil…" It was barely a whisper – hushed and rasped and soft, ever so soft.

He could feel her warm hand on his face, touching, caressing as it traced the outline of his eyes, the line of his beard down to the cleft of his chin. He could feel the tip of her long fingers slowly brush against his lips, awakening every single one of his nerve endings.

"Gil, don't cry."

His heartbeat sped up at the sound of her voice. His heart instinctively filled with love, bursting with its intensity until it filled him whole. Until it hurt. Until more tears slid down his face.

"Sshhh…don't be sad."

He was dreaming. He knew he had to be dreaming, that his subconscious was playing tricks on him but her voice was so clear, her touch so soft and gentle, so real and familiar, and so very missed.

Her featherlike hand moved to the pulse point on his throat down to his shoulder and the length of his bare arm, slowly, hesitantly all the way to the top of his hand, never breaking contact. Her touch like the caress of a feather so soft and light, filled his whole being with memories of her and the love and devotion they shared.

Then his hand moved, as though lifted off the bed. The gentle squeezing felt so very real, so devastatingly real that his heart physically ached for that touch.

"You made it up to me, remember?" Sara whispered softly, her smile loving and wistful. She looked down at his hand and turned it over, her fingers tentatively brushing over his as though committing their feel to memory. "I could never stay mad at you for long," she then mused with a trace of laughter in her voice. She looked up and smiled at him, and then touched his tousled hair. "Your hair was still damp from your shower, smelling of lemons from washing off that decomp, the floater from the storm drain. When was it? A week after the biter's case?"

"Three days," Grissom replied quietly.

"Only three days?" Sara mused with a befuddled pout.

"Three days that felt like a week."

"I could never stay mad at you for long," she repeated meditatively. The thoughtful smile returned as she resumed her recollections. "You had a towel wrapped round your waist. You were whistling along to the latest Beyoncé playing on the radio, trimming your beard over the bathroom sink when I got home. Hank was sat on his hind legs watching you."

It was Grissom's turn to smile now, a dreamy smile that lit up his grief-stricken face. He chuckled at the memory. "You smelled…bad."

Sara grinned. "You shared your lemons with me."

"I shared more than my lemons with you that day."

Sara's grin quivered. "You did. Every day."

Grissom nodded, his eyes blurring with new tears. Sara watched him, her smile trembling as she saw the changing emotions in his eyes; the pain and sorrow first, quickly replaced with guilt and regret.

Her gaze became pained too, her eyes filling with tears. "Please, Gil, don't cry," she whispered again. "It's not your fault; you're not to blame." She reached up, gently brushing her trembling fingertips over the dullness in his gaze, smoothing out the anxiety creasing his now sparkless dark blue eyes. "None of this is your fault."

Grissom quickly averted his gaze to the wall.

"_This_ isn't your fault," Sara insisted gently before coaxing him round with the lightest of touches. She was so tender with him, so gentle. She cupped his cheek, tilting his face up to hers and wiped off the teardrops pooling at the bottom of his cheeks where his beard began.

Grissom looked at Sara through a film of tears and shrugged his shoulders. He tried to smile but only managed a pained grimace.

Sara smiled again but it was a different smile. "Gil, please don't be afraid," she then said.

Grissom straightened up, frowning in confusion at the change of tone in her voice and watched as her eyes clouded, becoming distant.

"They were two of them," she began bravely. He shook his head at her but she continued regardless. She made herself utter those words, forcing him to face what had happened. She wanted him to see that he wasn't to blame, that he wasn't responsible for this. "I was stretching when they came from behind. I had my iPod on low and I didn't hear them. I didn't see their faces. It all happened so quickly…"

"No, Sara, please, don't. Don't," he pleaded desolately.

She smiled tearfully her bravery shining through. "White males, I think," she went on. "Both of them. One definitely taller than me, more like Warrick's height…the one that grabbed me, maybe a little shorter. In the struggle, the iPod came off. Their voices…" She shook her head uncertainly. "I caught one – the younger-sounding one. A kid." She frowned and lifted her hand to her face, studying her fingernails closely. "Did you recover any trace?"

He shook his head pleadingly, a gesture Sara interpreted as a negative reply to her question. "Stop," he murmured, distressed. "I don't want you to do this. I don't want to talk about it. I-"

"That's strange," she continued contemplatively, talking over his words, "the way he shrieked, I really thought I'd pulled his ear off."

"You did." Grissom brought his free hand to his face and rubbed it wearily. "Oh Sara, you did." He sighed.

"Got any DNA?"

Grissom looked at her helplessly and shrugged. "I …I don't know," he said in a whisper.

Sara looked surprised at that and then she looked pained but she smiled, nodding her head in understanding of his inner struggle. She remained silent for a long while as if she was trying to remember more. Then her face twisted in agony. "They took Hank," she exclaimed tears suddenly welling in her eyes. "Hank, oh, my God!"

Grissom reached out and smoothed her hair back from her eyes, cupping her cheek. "He's fine, honey. Hank's fine." He smiled tenderly. "He came home. He came to find me and took me to you. He's at Catherine's now."

Sara gave a quiet nod of the head, immediately appeased. "It wasn't his fault. You know that, don't you?" Grissom shrugged a shoulder. "I'd taken him off the lead," she carried on. "I know you're not supposed to but there was no one around, so I ran two laps of the soccer pitch and then I did some stretches before heading back home. It was such a nice day and the Indian hawthorn bushes were in bloom." She smiled at the memory. "Hank was just…" she shook her head, "I lost sight of him. He was…he was…"

"Please, honey, stop," Grissom murmured distraught by her anguish. He placed his index and middle fingers over her lips, silencing her. "I don't want you to do this. I don't want you to remember." He paused, breathing hard and swallowed, shaking his head pleadingly. "Please, don't try to remember more. They'll figure it out. Catherine's on it. They'll work it out."

"What about you?" she asked. "Aren't you trying to figure it out?" When he looked away, she said, "Gil, I need you to go find who did this to me."

"I can't." He shook his head, avoiding her eyes. "I can't leave you here."

"Babe, look at me," Sara said softly. Grissom shook his head again, his eyes fixed on the wall and Sara let out a small sigh. "Please, look at me." His lips wobbled and he slowly turned his head, making himself look at her.

The sadness in his eyes conveyed all she needed to know, certainly a lot more than he would ever be able to express to her. "I know," she simply told him.

He took a deep shuddering breath. "You know?" he repeated miserably.

She nodded her head softly and stroked his cheek. "_They_ can _never_ take me away from you, Gil. _No one_ will ever be able to take me away from you." Grissom blinked, releasing two tears, which Sara gently brushed aside, the barest of smiles curling her lips. "Your eyes have always betrayed your thoughts and feelings." She dropped her hand, shrugged and turned away. "I could hear them talk," she said, her voice suddenly hard and monotonous, "the doctors, the nurses, the technicians – their bleak matter-of-factness. "_Her EEG's flat. She's gone. She's not waking up from this. No response to pain; no cranial nerve reflexes and no spontaneous respiration."_ They talk about you as though you're not there."

"Sara…they…"

"They're right, of course," she cut in without emotion before he had time to talk. "I'm not waking up from this."

"Sara, please. They don't know…they're going to do more tests. They…"

She snapped her head round to him, shaking her head at his denial but her eyes were soft and full of compassion. She took his hand. "Don't be scared. I won't go until you're ready to let me go, I promise." She smiled tenderly and he closed his eyes, unable to look at her and accept her words. "But it's not time," she then added quietly, "I'm not ready to go – not just yet."

He reopened his eyes and gazed at her mournfully. He watched her for a long time, searching her eyes for confirmation of what she had just said. He then brought her hand up to his mouth and placed the lightest of kisses in its palm. He moved his other hand to her face and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over the tear tracks streaking her face.

Sara leaned into his touch, smiling peacefully. "I need you to find and catch who did this to me – to us, Gil," she continued. "I need you to bring them to justice and find closure. Then, I'll be ready to go."

"I can't. I won't leave you here on your own. I-"

"Gil, I'm not on my own; I've got you with me. I'll always have you with me." She smiled through her tears. "Promise me, Gil. Promise me."

Grissom swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked at Sara for a long time entranced by those soft, brave brown eyes, so sad and feeling too. He sighed, finally nodding his head at their silent pleading. "I promise I'm going to do everything in my powers to find the people responsible," he whispered, the words catching in his throat. "They won't go unpunished."

Sara's eyes darkened mirroring the ominous sombreness in his gaze and then he smiled at her with so much love and tenderness that it disappeared.

"Don't be afraid, Gil," she whispered weakly. She reached up and touched his eyes. "Remember I'll always be the light in your eyes."

A noise startled him. He glanced at Sara enquiringly but the eyes that had reflected so much love and affection a moment ago were now closed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he frowned, desperately searching Sara's face.

"Sir?"

Grissom slowly fluttered his eyes open and lifted his head off the bed, checking his surroundings, wondering for an instant where he was. He blinked again and then sighed sadly as the grim reality came flooding back. Yet, he felt appeased and revived. His mind was clear; his eyes shining a little brighter. He straightened up and turned round toward the day nurse.

She smiled warmly. "I'm sorry, Sir," she apologised quietly. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's time to do Ms Sidle's obs and care and…" she paused hesitating, "I'm going to need you to leave us for a little while, I'm afraid."

Grissom smiled back and then nodded, silently returning his gaze to Sara. Her head was once more wrapped in the thick white bandage, her beautiful smile replaced by the breathing tube connected to the ventilator. She was resting now but she would wake again. He knew it in his heart. He brought their entwined hands to his mouth, gently brushing his lips over Sara's fingers. Then he stood up and kissed her softly on the forehead, keeping his lips on her skin. He closed his eyes, committing the moment to memory. "I won't be long, my darling," he murmured. "I love you."

He parted from her and delicately put her hand down, tucking it under the bed sheet. He glanced at her face one last time and then picked up his bag. Turning to the nurse, he said, "I won't be long. Will you call me if there are any changes to her condition? You already have all my numbers."

The nurse looked up and smiled, nodding that she would.

* * *

Tbc.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you so much to everybody who took the time to leave a comment for the last chapter. I wasn't sure about it but you allayed my fears. This chapter is a little less tearful, still emotional but you can confidently leave your hankies in your pocket; I don't think you'll need them. Robynne, keep the dog on your lap, he'll be fine. Take a breather and enjoy ...

* * *

"Catherine?" Nick placed his hand on the assistant supervisor's arm and shook it gently. "Cath?"

Catherine startled and opened her eyes with a flutter. "Nick? Damn! How long have I been asleep?" She lifted her head up from her desk and wiped the corners of her mouth with her hand while glancing at the wall clock. It read 9.45 am. "I only meant to shut my eyes for a minute."

"Everybody's ready and waiting for you," he said.

Catherine nodded and began gathering the scattered and now crumpled sheets of Sara's case file. "You go ahead. I'll be along in a minute."

Nick got to the door but stopped at the threshold. He took a quick breath, shut the door and then turned round decisively. "Listen, Catherine," he said hesitantly, letting out a sigh, "before we go meet with everyone, hum, is there anything pertinent to the investigation into Sara's assault you maybe _forgot_ to share?"

Catherine's movements froze but she didn't look up from the desk. "How do you mean, Nick?" she asked, injecting some levity in her voice but the touchiness in the undertone confirmed Nick's suspicions.

He sighed again. "I _mean _why didn't you tell us Grissom and Sara were in a relationship?" he asked heatedly and yet keeping his voice low. Catherine looked up and met his gaze but remained silent. Nick stared back but unable to grit his teeth any longer added impatiently, "Even now, when I confront you with it, you still deny it. Why?"

"I should think that's pretty obvious," Catherine snapped back. She got to her feet, both hands spread palms down on her desk and glared at him. "Don't you?"

"So it's true then?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head in disbelief. He threw his hands in the air, his frustrations getting the better of his usual laid-back manner. "Don't you think we should have heard it from you?" he asked. "Instead you left us to find out for ourselves. You left us to wonder about them. Didn't you think that in view of what happened we deserved to know?" His voice was steadily getting louder. "If anything, we wasted precious time we could have used working other evidence."

"Keep your voice down, Nick," Catherine gritted.

Nick ignored her. "You should have told us about them, Catherine," he continued taking a few steps nearer his supervisor, his finger pointing at her chest in accusation. "_You_ should have been the one to tell us. We're Grissom's team; we're his friends. We'd have his back."

Catherine took a deep breath and lifted her hand conciliatorily but Nick was too fired up to take notice, his bottled-up frustration needing release.

"Damn it Catherine, Sara's my friend," he almost shouted now, his voice shaking with emotion. "She's all our friend and you didn't even bother to update us on her condition. I had to call an ER nurse, a friend of mine to find out about it. Didn't you think we'd care to know how she's doing?" He stared at Catherine, holding her gaze. "That's not right, Catherine," Nick lamented angrily shaking his head. He began to pace the room tensely. "Keeping that from us was not right," he repeated to himself.

Catherine looked at Nick with compassion realising that maybe she could have handled things differently. She was going to apologise when he turned and asked, "What else are you keeping from us, Catherine?"

Catherine paused, her mouth hanging open. She briefly looked down, stalling for time, wondering whether Wendy had blabbed, spreading the news about a potential sexual assault on Sara. Deciding that if Wendy hadn't said anything, knowing about it would certainly push the CSI over the edge. She met his gaze squarely. "Nothing," she replied with a sigh. "You know as much as I-"

Suddenly the door to her office burst open, making both her and Nick jump back in surprise.

"Nick, that's enough," Warrick said with authority in a loud whisper. "I can hear you all the way from the locker room."

Nick stared at Warrick eyes wide with disbelief. "You won't believe this, Rick but-"

"Save your breath, Nick. I already know," Warrick replied dismissively.

Nick's gaze narrowed suspiciously, his frustration turning to raging anger. "I don't fucking believe this!" he said with a snort. Aghast, he looked from Warrick to Catherine and then back to Warrick. "_She_ told you and not me – or Greg?" He was shaking his head, the disgust written all over his face.

"She didn't," Warrick replied impatiently. "I worked it out for myself."

"_She_ can speak for herself," Catherine said through gritted teeth. "Thanks Warrick but I think I can handle this myself." Although hushed, her voice was hard and authoritative, clearly reminding her colleagues of the fact that she was the boss. Both men instantly shut up, calming down. "I did what I thought was best under the circumstance." She paused. "Warrick, shut the door," she then instructed, which the CSI did.

Catherine let out a breath, pausing in thought. "I didn't know for certain about," she waved her hand in the air meaningfully, "until I went to process Sara at the hospital a few hours ago." She shrugged a semblance of apology. "Grissom isn't doing so well himself and Brass thought it best to keep it to ourselves in the hope that we could keep it under wraps and I agreed. So that's what I did. The consequences if Ecklie got wind of this would be catastrophic... for Grissom and Sara too. And you know what people are like round here. All it needs is an ear in the wrong place. Do you want the team to be split up again?" she asked, directing her question to Nick. "Hell, do you want for both of them to get the sack?"

Looking to their feet, both Nick and Warrick answered with a shake of the head.

"Still, you could have – _should_ have trusted us with this, Catherine," Nick muttered, his voice a lot calmer now. He looked up and met Catherine's gaze.

Catherine nodded her head acknowledging his point. "I know and I'm sorry but as I said, I did what I thought was best. Now, if you can't accept that, Nick," she said without malice, "maybe it's time you went home. I can't have you mouth off like that again."

Nick shook his head quickly, his distress evident and averted his gaze to the floor. "No." He rubbed his hand of his face. "No. I need to work this case. I'll be fine. It won't happen again."

"Good," Catherine said assertively. She flicked her gaze to Warrick. "Rick?"

Warrick lifted his hands to his side, shaking his head in disbelief as if to say "I didn't start all this; so don't take it out on me." But he slowly gave a nod of the head in agreement anyway.

"Okay," Catherine said. She paused for a moment while she gathered her thoughts and then nodded at both men. "Warrick, you done with the Blue Moon DB?"

"Well, I'm done at the scene. I've logged in the evidence and I'm waiting for Robbins to do the autopsy but the rest can wait. The dead can wait," he repeated sadly. "I want in on this case, Catherine."

Catherine sighed and smiled. "I know. We all do. Okay, put it on hold until shift tonight. You managed to get the CCTV coverage from the park?"

"Eventually," Warrick replied, "but yeah." He patted his jacket pocket and took out a brown envelope. "Don't know what's on it though and it doesn't cover the exact area Sara was found but you know…" he shrugged.

Catherine nodded. "Worth a shot. Get it to Archie. Now Nick, you go cool off for a bit. Go and get a coffee…or just… take a breather." She rubbed her eyes wearily. "I was going to say that you're far too close to this case to remain objective but I guess we all are." She shrugged and exhaled sadly. "Okay, I want you both in the layout room in ten minutes for debrief. Tell the others."

"What's wrong with you, man?" Catherine heard Warrick ask Nick as they left her office. She turned and watched as they walked away,easily falling into step with each other. Nick shrugged his reply and Warrick clapped him on the shoulder warmly, keeping his hand there. "And while you're at it, make mine a strong one," she then heard Warrick tell his friend, "none of this piss water you generally make." Nick snorted with involuntary laughter and returned his friend's kind gesture.

* * *

"_I see you got yourself the night off tonight," Hodges told his nightshift supervisor with a knowing waggle of his brow. "You think they can do it?"_

"_I didn't know you were a ball fan, Hodges," Grissom replied with surprise._

"_Well, I like to keep abreast of most things, you know…keep my hand in a few pies. I'm more of a basketball aficionado myself…"_

_Grissom nodded gravely. "I see."_

_Hodges hesitated. "I…I too happen to have the night off tonight. Maybe we could-"_

_Grissom shuddered at the thought of him and Hodges sharing a beer as they watched the game together and then caught sight of Sara walking past the trace lab, her nose stuck in a case file. His eyes widened. "Sara needs me," he said quickly. He turned to go but stopped at the threshold. "Good work on these, David," he added, leaving Hodges to kick himself for the missed opportunity._

"Hodges, what have you got?" Catherine asked for the second time, jarring the trace tech out of his reverie.

Hodges flinched with embarrassment and cleared his throat. He glanced down at the file in front of him, a frown on his face. He looked up and addressed everyone. "Well, I compared the wood fragments you collected from the bench at the crime scene with the shards…hum…extracted from…hum…Sara's head wound and there's absolutely no doubt. They match."

"That was to be expected," Catherine said with a sigh. "What about Sara's clothing. Any trace on them?"

Hodges shook his head. "Generic traces of soil but nothing probative as far as trace is concerned. I kicked them back to DNA. Same with Grissom's clothing." He shrugged apologetically that he didn't have more.

"What about the fibre Gr…I collected in the wound on Sara's neck?"

Hodges smiled smugly. "Polyethylene terephthalate." He paused for effect. "I compared it to Grissom's…huh…Hank's leash and it's a match."

Catherine looked up sharply her face creased into a frown. "Let me get this straight. You're telling us that Sara's attackers used Hank's leash to attempt to strangle her?"

Hodges shrugged. "That's not for me to say. I just analyse. You CSI's, draw conclusions based on the evidence but…there's no doubt. The fiber comes from the leash."

Catherine let out a long sigh as she processed this new piece of information. Then she turned to Wendy and smiled, indicating that it was her turn to share her findings. "Well, the blood from the bench is definitely Sara's," the DNA tech said, "which confirms what David just said," she added flustered, "but I isolated no other contributors. I'm still in the process of testing Sara's clothing. I got sweat and blood obviously, most probably Sara's but I've also found traces of some other type of fluid. I'll let you know as soon as I get something." She shrugged in the same way Hodges had, apologising for not having more.

"What about the DNA from under Sara's nails?" Nick asked her calmly. He stood slightly back from everyone, his arms folded over his chest.

Wendy glanced at Catherine, surprised that the assistant supervisor hadn't shared her findings with her colleague. Catherine nodded her head, indicating that she should proceed. The DNA tech turned to Nick with a smile. "I got enough DNA for a profile – a white male – but CODIS didn't turn up anyone. It matched the DNA from the earring though," she added.

"So, we got the DNA of the man who assaulted Sara," Warrick surmised, "but he's not in the system. No prior and no name. Any evidence of a second attacker?"

Wendy shook her head, shared a look with Catherine and smiled uncomfortably. "Not so far."

There was an awkward silence which Greg filled. "Well," he began, "I don't have any probative prints at all on any of Hank's stuff. We're assuming the attackers wore gloves. Nothing on the dog catcher pole either. Unfortunately, although homemade, the components can be purchased in any hardware shop so I got to a dead end there as well."

Catherine sighed and rubbed her face wearily. "There's got to be something," she said. "They have to have left something behind. What haven't we tested yet?"

"Quite a fair bit of stuff collected at the crime scene remains to be tested," Nick replied. "I've printed everything – Mandy's running the prints for me – but some of it still needs to be tested for DNA. I got quite a lot of food and drink trash and cigarette butts. The attackers may have been waiting for the right time to attack Sara, we never know….but there is a lot."

Wendy nodded. "Hum…I wouldn't mind some help, actually Catherine. There's only so much I can do and I'm already quite backed up as it is."

Greg piped up, "I don't mind digging in, if it'll save time."

Catherine looked at Greg as she considered his offer. As tempting as it was, she would much rather keep the ex-DNA tech well away from the particular lab at the moment. "That's great Greg thank you. I appreciate the offer but I need you somewhere else." Greg looked disappointed but didn't question his boss. "David," she continued addressing Hodges, "I want you to give Wendy a hand in DNA-"

Hodges looked startled. "But, I…"

"You can swab and prepare, can't you?" Catherine cut in. Hodges closed his open mouth and looked at Wendy. "Your other open cases can wait, can't they?"

Movement outside the layout room door briefly caught the trace tech's eye but he looked back to Catherine, nodding. "I certainly can and they will wait, to answer both your questions," Hodges replied with a nod of his head.

Catherine frowned, turned to see what had caught Hodges' eye and nodded back to Ecklie talking on his cell in the corridor. Right on cue, and replacing his cell in his suit breast pocket, Ecklie leaned against the door jamb and said, "If you're finished, can I have a quick word with you Catherine? I know you're busy; it won't take long."

Catherine nodded a little warily, looked back at the rest of the people around the light table and smiled her thanks. "Okay," she said, bringing the meeting to a close, "back to work." She smiled at Hodges and Wendy briefly as they left and then told her CSI's to go get started in the A/V lab while she spoke with Ecklie. They all took their cue and filed out of the room except Nick who lingered a little behind.

"I've been looking for Grissom," Ecklie then told Catherine as he stepped fully into the room. "He's not in his office or picking up his calls."

Catherine shrugged her shoulders feigning a nonchalance she was far from feeling. "He's around some place," she replied with a tight smile

"He was helping Warrick with the Blue Moon DB last time I saw him," Nick interjected in his easy drawl. "Have you checked the morgue?"

Ecklie looked surprised that Grissom was doing as he was told and then shook his head. "Just tell him I want to speak to him when you next see him, will you?"

Nick nodded his head at Ecklie as he walked past and turned to share a meaningful look with Catherine who nodded back with a grateful smile.

Ecklie waited until Nick had left to continue. "I was going to discuss this with Grissom but since he's not here…" he let out a short breath.

Catherine stared at her line manager wondering where this conversation was leading. Could Ecklie have somehow got wind of Grissom and Sara's relationship?

"Brass tells me," he went on, "that no witnesses have come forward as regards Sara's attack? Is that correct?" Catherine nodded her head cautiously in acquiescence. "Okay," Ecklie said, "I think that maybe we ought to put a broadcast out with the media and the local TV station. Late afternoon in a busy park, someone's bound to have noticed something. We're looking for what? Two assailants? and one holding a dog catcher pole, for goodness sake. Someone has to have seen them arrive at the park." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Also, I've just come out of a meeting with the under-sheriff about releasing some extra funding to cover for overtime." Catherine pursed her face in surprise. "He's agreed, so Catherine, we do whatever is deemed necessary to solve the case and bring Sara's attackers to justice. No expense spared."

Catherine's brow lifted and she smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Conrad," she said warmly. "I'll let Grissom know. But I know he will appreciate it."

Ecklie nodded his head with a tight smile. "Okay," he said turning to leave, "you keep me posted and if there's anything particular you want me to tell the Press you let me know. I'm hoping to catch the lunchtime news." He paused at the door. "Oh, and tell Grissom to call me."

"Thank you, Conrad," Catherine repeated stunned by Ecklie's support.

"Sorry to interrupt," Warrick said as he popped his head round the door. He flicked his gaze from Ecklie to Catherine. "The CCTV footage is all cued up, ready to go."

* * *

"CH 32, this is dispatch. Do you copy?"

"Dispatch, this is CH 32, Officer Barker. Go ahead."

"Are you still on your break just off Freemont Street?"

"Affirmative."

"Suspicious circs at 2205 Beach Front Drive. Can you swing by and investigate a possible break-in?"

"2205 Beach Front Drive. Roger that dispatch. Any details?"

"Neighbour from across the road called it in. Reported finding the front door open. Owners' cars on the drive but they don't answer her calls. You're advised to proceed with caution."

"10-4. ETA ten minutes. Out."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Reviews would cheer me no end this weekend. We got icy winds, rain and sleet forecast. They've even uttered the word 'snow' again. Shudders at the thought. A little warmth and sunshine wouldn't go amiss. Have a nice weekend. :-)


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I put everything else aside and my skates on, and updated early. Today is a special day. It's the 3rd of Feb obviously, and not Pancake Day as my greedy children led me to believe but it's someone's not-so-special day. Joyeux 25eme Anniversaire, Jellybean. Grosses bises. J'espère que ce châpitre remplacera les chocolats fondus...;-)

* * *

Grissom asked the cab driver to wait while he got some cash to pay for the fare. He was entering the main CSI building when he caught sight of Ecklie talking on his cell headed to his office on the first floor. Grissom froze and then moved closer to the wall deciding to wait in the shadows until the coast was clear.

To justify his movements to Ecklie, or anybody else for that matter, was the last thing Grissom wanted. To acknowledge his relationship with Sara to his line manager equated to at best a suspension and at worst… He quickly shook the idea out of his mind. He needed access to the lab. He needed access to the case evidence and results, to the crime scene photos and databases. He needed to solve the case.

His cell rang. A surge of adrenaline immediately rippled through him, his legs almost buckling under him. His palms sweaty, he looked around the lobby, reaching for his phone and checked the display. The name _Ecklie_ flashed across the screen and he let out a relieved breath, quickly diverting the call to voicemail.

Stealth-like, he headed for his office. On the way he noticed Wendy hunched over her workstation, deep in thought. He stopped outside her door, hesitating for a split second as he warily scanned his gaze around him. The corridor was deserted and across the way, Hodges' lab was empty. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. With no more hesitation and the unpaid cab fare long forgotten, he paid her a visit.

"Wendy," he said quietly as he entered the open lab, "how are you getting on with Sara's case?"

Wendy jumped in fright and brought her hand to her chest. "Grissom!" she yelped before exhaling loudly. She edgily looked around for Hodges but then remembered she had sent him out to fetch a fresh supply of sterile test tubes from the store cupboard. "I didn't think you were here…working, I mean…huh, at the lab." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "You have news? Huh, h-how's Sara?"

Grissom closed the lab door, ignoring her question. "Have you got the DNA results from the residue recovered under Sara's nails?" he asked instead.

Grissom's abrupt tone flustered Wendy even more. She took in a deep breath, steadying her nerves. "Yes," she said with confidence, "it came back XY but I couldn't get an ID; the contributor's not in the database."

"What about the earring? Anything from that?"

"Same donor," Wendy replied.

Grissom nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. He briefly looked down to his feet and then met Wendy's gaze. "I also need the results on the vaginal swab Catherine asked you to process. Are they ready?" Wendy stared blankly back at him, a look Grissom misinterpreted for confusion. "From the SAE kit Catherine collected on Sara," he added tensely, the last word dying on his lips.

"Hum…I…"

"Are they ready?" he repeated his tone becoming even more stern to cover his unease.

Looking clearly uncomfortable Wendy stuttered her reply. "Y-yes but I'm afraid I'm…under strict instructions. I'm not to share my findings-"

"From whom?" he asked curtly, his sombre gaze boring into her.

Wendy licked her lips. "I beg you pardon?"

"Who gave you those instructions?"

"Catherine?" The word came out in an unconvinced whisper. "It's her case and-"

"Well, Catherine's under _my_ purview and so are you, for that matter. So think carefully before you refuse my query."

Backed into a corner, Wendy sighed. Then she grudgingly picked a manila envelope from the bottom of a pile atop her workstation and silently handed it to him. Grissom reached into his pocket for his reading glasses, slipping them on as he took the folder. He quickly scanned the results, his brow furrowed and his expression hardening the more he read.

After a while, he rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully and returned his gaze to Wendy. "It says here," he said pointing at the sheet, "_unknown contributor_, for the second sample you ran?"

Wendy swallowed. "That's right."

Grissom bit his bottom lip anxiously, then sighed shaking his head at what Catherine had done. "What did you use as a comparison sample?"

"A strand of hair but the follicular tag was damaged," she shrugged in apology, "so I couldn't extract enough DNA for a positive match. That's why my findings are inconclusive." Her shoulders rose again. "I'm very sorry."

"Did Catherine tell you where the hair sample she provided came from?"

Wendy shook her head. "No…and I didn't ask."

Grissom nodded. "I want you to-" The ringing of his cell interrupted him. He jumped, turning pale, and scrambled for the phone in his pocket. _Brass._ He breathed a quick sigh of relief, pressed the send-to-voicemail button and promptly returned his gaze to Wendy. "Run the tests again."

"Sir, I can't. This is the best I could do. I-"

Grissom sighed as he debated with himself what to do next. Eventually he pushed himself off the workstation, put the file down and opened an overhead glass-fronted cupboard. He reached in and took out a small oblong cardboard box from a pile. His movement slow and controlled, he opened the box, took out the brand-new swab stick and uncapped it. Then he glanced at Wendy and, with his back to the plate-glass window, opened his mouth and thoroughly swabbed the inside of his cheek. He slowly recapped the stick and looking at the DNA tech in the eye, he handed it to her.

"Run the tests again," he said quietly but meaningfully. "When you have the results, you pass them on to me and no one else. Understood?"

"Sir?"

Grissom stared at Wendy but the mask was slipping. Wendy inclined her head to the side, mirroring the heartbreaking pain seeping out of his gaze, causing Grissom to avert his eyes to the floor.

Wendy swallowed and sighed at the wretchedness of the situation as she took the proffered swab. Then she smiled warmly but Grissom didn't see the kind gesture. "I'll run the tests again now," she said, "and text you the results as soon as they come through."

Grissom nodded, avoiding her gaze. "Do you know where Catherine is?" he then asked.

"I saw them all head toward the A/V lab. I heard Warrick-"

Grissom had the lab door open before Wendy had time to finish her sentence, bumping into Hodges on his way out. The sound of the tech's curse as he dropped the tray laden with sterile glassware he was carrying could be heard resonating long after Grissom's departure.

* * *

"Is that it?" Warrick asked incredulously as he watched the grainy pictures on the wall-mounted screen. Visibly frustrated and disappointed, he slammed his hand on the workstation, making Archie jump.

"I'm afraid so," the A/V tech replied ruefully.

"Okay," Catherine said, patting the young tech's shoulder comfortingly. "Okay. Warrick, you need to calm down."

Warrick swivelled on his heels and moved toward the glass wall. He banged his closed fists on it and then leaned his forehead and elbows on the glass, all the while rubbing his head wearily. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry. It's just that this is so damn frustrating. I really thought that this would be the breakthrough we needed," he let his words trail into a long sigh.

"Is this footage from the only surveillance camera in the park?" Catherine asked him.

Warrick took a deep breath and turned around. He shook his head. "There are two wide-angle, long range cameras_ strategically_ placed around the park," he said, his fingers sarcastically mimicking quote marks around the word 'strategically'. "One overlooking the children's play area and playground and the other one covering the soccer pitch. Desert Breeze has had issues with flashers in the past. You know what it's like when the word _paedophile_ gets uttered. And West Sahara is a wealthy area so…"

"So they put CCTV near where the kids play and the flashers go somewhere else. I get the picture." Catherine sighed, pushing her hair from her face impatiently. "Archie," she then said, "can you play the tape again, from where we first see Sara at the top of the soccer pitch?"

"Sure." Archie rewound the seven-minute segment of film and played it again.

"So we got Sara running with Hank on a short leash," Nick began recounting again. "17.08. She's got her iPod on and the water bottle in her hand, which fits with what we already know. She does one length of the field, looks around and then stops to take the lead off Hank, which she then rolls and keeps in her free hand." He fell silent, his gaze turning sorrowful as he watched Sara laugh, Hank joyfully bounding around her, barking, grateful for his unexpected freedom.

Greg broke the awkward silence. "That would explain how they managed to catch Hank and how Sara got the lacerations on her neck," he said in a small voice, watching as Sara crouched down to rub the boxer affectionately before waving him away playfully.

Nick nodded in agreement with Greg's reasoning. He swallowed and looked at the others sadly.

Warrick took over the commentary. "She carries on running. Two laps and then she stops and we lose her for what?" He checked the time stamp as the video continued to play. "Thirty seconds. Then she comes back in the frame momentarily."

"What's north of the pitch?" Catherine asked.

"Nothing," Greg replied. "Bushes, greenery and trees. I searched that area thoroughly when I was looking for Hank's leash."

"Okay it's probably not relevant anyway. She looks around again, she's frowning – maybe looking for Hank - and then we lose her."

Warrick sighed. "17.15."

"Archie, freeze the frame," Nick requested, which the tech did. "The bench is just ten yards over here," he said, "just out of the picture. Grissom found Sara at?"

"He called Brass at 5.40," Catherine provided, checking the time in the case file.

"And Brass logged the call with dispatch at 5.46," added Greg.

"So let's say it took Hank 15 minutes to free himself and raise the alarm," Warrick mused aloud, "Sara's attack took place almost immediately after the last sighting of her on the tape."

Catherine nodded. Then, she paused frowning at the distant noise of crashing glassware. She shook her head and said, "Archie, cue the tape back to the beginning. We watch the recording one last time," she told the others. "This time we don't watch Sara. We concentrate on what happens away from her." Catherine's cell vibrated on her waistband and she unclipped it, her eyes still focused on the TV screen. "Willows," she replied without looking at the display.

"Grissom's left the hospital," Brass said breathlessly. "I can't find him anywhere."

"What do you mean _left_? Are you sure? He said he wasn't going to leave Sara's side." Catherine turned to avoid her colleagues' curious stares. "Has something happened?"

"No. Not as far as I understand. The nurse told me there was no change in Sara's condition. She asked Grissom to step out of the room and no one's seen him since."

"Have you checked the chapel?" Catherine asked in a hushed whisper.

Brass snorted into the phone. "Funnily enough that's the second place I checked, after the bathroom. He's not in the cafeteria either. He's not picking up his cell or his house phone."

Catherine felt a nudge of her elbow and she turned toward Nick, who gave a quick nod of the head toward the door. She followed his gaze and smiled letting out a long relieved breath. Grissom stood at the threshold with his hands in his pockets and his reading glasses on. He had obviously got showered and changed and, save for the dead, weary look in his eyes, it could have been a scene from the previous day's shift. Transfixed and motionless, he stared at the picture of Sara on pause on the screen.

"He's here, Jim," Catherine said at last. "I'll call you back," she added before flipping the phone shut. Catherine's relief was short-lived. "Gil," she greeted, "What are you doing here?" She moved and wrapped her arms around him. Grissom flinched at the touch but didn't return the embrace or push her away. "How is Sara?"

At first Grissom didn't reply. He allowed none of his emotions to show, his face once more a mask for his feelings. Then sensing everyone's gaze on him and with his eyes still glued to the TV screen, he muttered, "Sleeping."

All eyes shifted from Grissom onto Catherine who could only mirror everyone's pained incredulity.

"Archie, play on," Grissom instructed gruffly.

Archie silently checked with Catherine for confirmation. She looked at Grissom and then shook her head at Archie. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here, Gil," she then told her boss. "We found nothing probative on the footage anyway. Besides, Ecklie's looking for you already, asking questions and I don't want him on our backs anymore than is the case already. If he finds you wor-"

Grissom gave Catherine a warning look. "Catherine, this is still my shift. I'm still your supervisor. If I tell you to play the tape, you don't question me." He paused long enough to pass on his silent threat and then turned his gaze to Archie. "Archie, _play_ the tape."

Catherine lifted an appeasing hand. "Gil," she sighed. "We're all tired and on the edge here. We all want to catch Sara's attacker but…" Grissom's brow lifted in challenge and she stopped talking. Her gaze flicked to Nick and then to Warrick and seeing the confusion in both their gazes she sighed, backing down. She silently nodded her go-ahead at Archie who just tapped a few keys, starting the tape.

Grissom watched the screen unblinkingly. His eyes darted all over the screen, scanning every frame meticulously, the silent images replaying in real time on the screen. He made no comment, showed no emotion, just rubbed his eyes wearily every so often. When they got to the end of the footage Archie stopped the recording.

Grissom looked up with a frown. "Play on," he instructed.

"We've already watched the tape several times and this is the last we see of Sara," Catherine told him.

Grissom nodded. "Humour me," he told her coldly.

They watched on in silence for another minute and then a second one. Nothing happened. It was just a picture of an empty pitch and the immediate surrounding area.

After three minutes, Nick and Warrick exchanged looks with each other and then with Catherine who just shrugged back.

"What are you looking for, Griss?" Warrick asked.

Keeping his eyes on the screen, Grissom remained silent. Suddenly, a woman was briefly seen jogging on the outer edge of the pitch going in the opposite direction to where Sara was found. The CSI's straightened up with renewed interest. Twenty seconds later, two men were seen running across the pitch. They too wore running gear and the taller one had a sports bag slung over his shoulder. At first glance neither set of runners looked out of place or acted suspiciously.

"It's them," Grissom exclaimed with absolute certainty pointing at the screen. The look of pure hatred in his eyes spoke volume. "Archie freeze the frame," he instructed curtly. "Tidy up the picture, make a still of it and get it to me as soon as you can." He walked out, leaving an exasperated Catherine and everyone else to stare at his hunched, retreating back in stunned silence.

"What does he mean _sleeping_?" Greg asked at last turning toward Catherine. "Did Sara regain consciousness?"

"How does he know it's _them_?" Warrick asked stunned. "How does he know what Sara's attackers look like or how many there were in the first place? And you only get a back shot of them anyway."

Looking pained and confused, Catherine looked at her CSI's and shrugged her shoulders in ignorance. "I…I don't know," she just replied to both Greg and Warrick's questions. She turned toward Archie and told him to do as Grissom had instructed anyway, these men could be potential witnesses after all. She also asked him to take a still of the female runner.

Then she looked at Nick, Greg and Warrick whose shocked gazes were turned toward the now empty corridor. Without another moment to lose, she asked one of them to go to the hospital to get an official update on Sara's condition, and for the other two to get some sleep. She then instructed them to clock in for shift later in the afternoon before heading for Grissom's office. She barged in without knocking and found him rummaging frustratingly through his desk drawers.

"Gil, please talk to me," she said quietly. "What did you mean when you said Sara was _sleeping_? Has something happened? Is that why you're here?"

Grissom stopped poking through his desk, slumped down heavily onto his chair and shook his head. He sighed, removing his glasses and then rubbed the tiredness in his eyes. "She…There's no change."

Catherine nodded. She suspected she was being short-changed with the truth but knew Grissom too well to want to push him. "I'm worried about you," she continued softly, taking a seat across from him. She reached over and squeezed his arm affectionately. "You're exhausted; you haven't slept in-" The dark look he cast her silenced her momentarily and she removed her hand. "We're here for you. We're all here for you and Sara." She paused. "You just need to say the word and ..."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," she quipped with a tentative smile.

He paused and shook his head, staring at her helplessly. He opened his mouth to talk but unable to get the words out, shrugged helplessly. "I can't Catherine. I just…I'm sorry." He looked at her briefly and then forced a pained smile. "I'll be fine. I just need to be here for a while. Get my mind round a few things. Then I'll go back to the hospital."

Catherine nodded. "Okay. Well, you know where I'll be," she said kindly as Grissom resumed his search, "if you feel like sharing." She smiled but he was too busy to notice. "What are you looking for?"

"My migraine medication," he said with irritation. "I'm sure I…have a couple of pills lying around in here somewhere. I …Dammit!" he cursed in pain.

"You all right?"

Grissom's eyes misted over. He brought his bleeding finger to his mouth and sucked the blood off it. "I'm fine," he mumbled tetchily.

"You're not fine, Gil," she retorted impatiently. She got up and walked round the desk. She opened the bottom drawer and located the medication without any problems. "You're not fine," she repeated quietly holding out the bottle to him. "You've been up all night and now you…" she sighed, "you need to go home and get some rest."

Grissom twisted the lid off the pill bottle and shook a couple of pills into his hand, which he dry swallowed. "No. I need to be here," he muttered. "I've promised Sara. I'll keep a low profile, stay out of Ecklie's way. I'll just…go over the case file, study the evidence, the crime scene photos, everything." Grissom looked up and met Catherine's gaze. She was frowning. "I'll stay hands-off, you have my word."

Catherine stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief as she debated with herself the wisdom of such decision.

"Please Catherine," he pleaded desolately, dissipating the last of her resolve, "I know what you've agreed with Ecklie but I just can't sit back…maybe a fresh pair of eyes…?"

She got up and nodded slowly. "Okay." She smiled. "All right, if you're sure. I'll put everything together for you but you must promise me you will share every bit of information with me."

The desk phone rang, causing Grissom to jump. Catherine beat him to the receiver and with a look that said, "Remember, you're not supposed to be here," she picked up. "Grissom's office, Willows speak-"

"Catherine? Is Gil still with you?" Brass sounded stressed.

"Y-es." Catherine replied with hesitation. She cast a furtive look at Grissom, deliberately keeping her responses vague. "What is it?"

"I need you to come to 2205 Beach Front Drive…with your kit."

Catherine's face fell and turned toward Grissom. "2205 Beach Front Drive?" she repeated incredulously for her boss's benefit. The latter sprung to his feet, already headed out of the door. "We're on our way," she said hurriedly before slamming the phone down onto the cradle.

* * *

Tbc.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I know I told some of you I'd post on Sunday but you are being very kind in your reviews so ... here's the next chapter.

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Catherine parked the Denali behind Brass's unmarked vehicle and unbuckled her seatbelt. Grissom made no move to get out.

"You coming?" she asked as she opened the door, her hand on the handle, her left foot hanging mid-air.

Grissom's eyes moved from a spot on his lap to a new spot straight ahead in front of him. From the unfocused look on his face, Catherine doubted that that move had been a conscious one. Ever since Brass's call back at the lab, he had remained silent and introspective – more so than usual – which did nothing to allay Catherine's fears about her friend's well-being.

"In a minute," he replied vaguely when she probed him a second time for an answer. "You go ahead though," he added, turning his head to offer Catherine a small pinched smile.

Catherine hesitated and pulled the car door back toward her. "You're going to be okay?" she asked softly. A brief nod and a tighter smile was his only reply. Catherine sighed. "You think _this_ is related to the attack on Sara?"

"I don't know. A hell of a coincidence if it isn't," he grumbled back before refocusing his gaze on Catherine. "You go ahead," he insisted. "I'll be along in a minute."

Catherine smiled and reached out her hand to give his thigh a gentle squeeze. "Okay." She got out of the Denali, stalling for time. "You know," she said hesitantly, popping her head back inside the cab, "no one will think any less of you if you decide to sit this one out."

Grissom smiled at her kindness. "I appreciate your concern, Cath but I'll be fine. Thank you, though," he added as an afterthought.

Catherine nodded her head. "Don't mention it." She slammed the driver's door shut, opened the back door and hoisted her kit from the back seat. With a quick backward glance toward Grissom she closed the door before heading to her new crime scene, his house across the street. _Second time today_, she thought, smiling wanly at Brass who was ambling her way.

Brass fell in step with her and nodded his head back toward the car. "Grissom not coming?"

"In a _minute_," she replied arching her brow and obviously quoting her boss back to him. "He's…not quite with it." Brass nodded thoughtfully. "He even _forgot_ to pay for his cab fare to CSI from the hospital, which by the way _I_ had to fork out – thirty bucks _plus_ a hefty tip to compensate for the man's trouble."

Brass pursed his face to conceal his amusement and then turned serious, stopping mid-way across the street. "He told you?"

"About Sara?" Catherine asked, a look of confusion crossing her face. She shrugged. "No. Well, he said there was no change in her condition. Why? What's happened?"

Brass shook his head with a sigh. Then he related that while looking for Grissom he had had a word to the nurse who let it slip about the results of the CT scan and Sara's true condition. "Let's hope they got it wrong, hey?" he finished weakly.

Catherine warily glanced back toward Grissom and then nodded her head. "Yeah. Let's hope so," she sighed.

Brass smiled, swaying on his feet uneasily. "Okay, let's get on with it," he then said with a nod toward the townhouse. He nudged Catherine who was still staring at the back of Grissom's head and she slowly turned her head toward Brass, smiling and nodding. They resumed crossing the street and Brass got on with his brief.

"The house is clear. It looks fine to me, a little messy maybe but no more than my place." The small quip fell on deaf ears. "Nothing looks to have been stolen, which is weird considering the quantity of high-tech equipment on display and what the neighbour who called it in told me." He patted his breast pocket for his note book, which he took out and flipped open while Catherine flicked her gaze at the houses flanking Grissom's. "From across the way," Brass qualified, "house number…2198. A Mrs Frances Harris."

Catherine nodded and looked back over her shoulder toward the neighbour's house. The curtains twitched.

"Says she noticed that the front door was open at around 9 am," Brass continued, reading over his notes. "Thought nothing of it. Apparently, she says, it's not unusual for the _Grissoms_ – her words, not mine," he hastened to add in response to Catherine's baffled look, "to keep rather unusual office hours."

Catherine stopped walking abruptly. "Wow, Jim, slow down a minute. Does she know something we don't?"

Brass stopped too and shook his head, amused. "No," he replied with a small chuckle. "I ran some checks though." He pulled a facial 'What else could I do?' shrug. "But no, they didn't tie the knot behind our backs, if that's what you're getting at. Officially, Sara's still living at her apartment too. Our well-meaning Mrs Harris must have got the wrong end of the stick at some point and I didn't bother to put her right." Brass motioned with his head to head forth.

"Neither did '_the Grissoms_' for that matter," Catherine mumbled, her fingers mimicking quote marks as she fell into step with the detective.

"Anyways," he went on, "she noticed that both Grissom's and Sara's cars were in the drive. She tells me they work night, but she doesn't know what they do." Brass shook his head in amazement. "How long has Grissom been living here?"

"Your neighbours know what you do for a living?" Catherine asked back, nodding at the uniformed officer standing guard on the sidewalk as she walked past him. "Because mine don't."

Brass pursed his face in thought as he briefly pondered Catherine's words, and then shook his head. "The sirens and squad car gave _my_ game away a long time ago," he said. He lifted the crime scene tape for Catherine who deftly ducked under. "Anyways, at about 10, she was pulling out in her car to go grocery shopping when she noticed that the door was still open and thought as a good neighbour she'd come and investigate. When she shouted in and got no reply she thought something was amiss – her words again – used the handle to close the door and called 911." Catherine and Brass stopped walking, reaching the porch to the townhouse. "A patrol came to investigate and when they couldn't locate Grissom, they called me."

Catherine nodded, bending to slip some paper booties on. "Did the neighbour go in at all?" she then asked, donning the standard latex gloves.

"No. Just my men when they cleared the house and me."

"Okay." Catherine crouched in front of the door. "No signs of forced entry," she said, shining he torchlight all over the door. The only evident marks on the door were Hank's nail scratches.

Brass spread his arms wide and shook his head in a helpless manner. "You don't say."

Catherine ignored the well-intentioned retort. "You know, I swung by the house at around 6.30 this morning," she mused, "and I definitely shut and locked the door afterwards."

Brass lifted his brow. "Well, that narrows the timescale down significantly but doesn't explain how the door miraculously unlocked and opened itself." He paused. "I don't suppose Grissom – or Sara – keep a Hide-a-Key some place?"

Catherine snorted at Brass's words. "Not likely."

"Didn't think so either." He gave a cursory look toward the house. "Okay, it's all clear – ready for you."

Catherine nodded and pushed the door open. At first glance, nothing looked out of place inside. It was as she had left it a few hours previously. The mess in the lounge was still there, undisturbed. The TV, DVD player, and B&O sound system still accounted for too. She slowly walked down the steps to the kitchen, making sure she didn't step on anything probative but the house was exactly as she had left it. Even the study with the two laptops sitting in full view on the desks appeared untouched.

She was seriously wondering whether this was a false alarm, whether she had inadvertently not shut the door properly when she had popped round earlier, when she got to the master bedroom. Her eyes widened, her heart missing a beat.

"Jim, come and take a look at this!" she called from the threshold. Brass rushed over from the kitchen area. "When I came earlier," she told him, "the bed was made. Freshly made."

They both went in the bedroom to examine the bed more closely. The sheets were askew, crumpled, the quilt pulled back over the foot of the bed. "It looks like mine when I'm about to hit the sack," Brass said. However the mild quip was a bad disguise for the detective's sudden uneasiness.

"I only took the blanket from it," Catherine continued, "and Hank's basket. Unless Grissom came home and took a vigorous nap, I-"

"I didn't."

Catherine and Brass both turned toward Grissom standing at the doorsill. His words were spoken without feeling or emotion. He looked calm, composed and his usual CSI-like, a far cry from when Catherine had left him in the car. He stepped in and looked around studying the scene closely.

After a minute of long, pregnant silence, Catherine said, "What are you thinking, Gil?"

He exhaled noisily and shook his head. "We're being targeted on purpose," he said after a while. "Sara and Hank get attacked first, now this." He shook his head again. "Too much of a coincidence if the two events aren't closely connected." He paused and rubbed his face while he put some order into his thoughts. "That the bed's the only thing disturbed in the house is symbolic. They had free access to absolutely everything and they chose the bed."

"But how did they get a key to the house?" Brass asked. "There's no sign of forced entry on any of the doors or the windows."

"You or Sara didn't lose a key recently, did you?" Catherine wondered.

Grissom shook his head, looking thoughtful. "There are only three front door keys to the house," he said. "Mine," Catherine touched her back pocket for the key and gave it back to Grissom, "Sara's and the spare I keep in my office at CSI. We meant to have a forth one cut but never got round to it."

Brass's face was creased into a frown. "Well, unless whoever's done this has a free pass back at headquarters', they had to have used Sara's key."

"Or they had a new one cut," Catherine interjected.

"But for that they needed the key in the first place," Brass argued.

Grissom nodded and then the penny dropped. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think I know why Sara's running shoe's still missing," he said at last. He paused with a heavy sigh. "She usually threads the key through the shoelaces when she goes running – saves hiding it or carrying it."

"So, are we back to her attack being a case of robbery-gone-wrong after all?" Catherine wondered aloud. But even she didn't sound convinced by her own words.

"Why attack her for the key?" Grissom countered. "Nothing valuable or that could be sold for cash or drug money was stolen." His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. "We don't keep any money in the house. And from what I gather from Mrs Harris they had ample time to swipe the whole lot."

"She's the neighbour from across the street; the one who called this in," Brass explained as an aside, noticing Catherine's slightly baffled look.

"No, no. This isn't just another run-of-the-mill case or an unfortunate coincidence," Grissom continued in answer to Brass's original question. "We're missing something. We're missing a key piece of evidence."

He moved to the chest of drawers, waggled his fingers for a pair of latex gloves which Catherine handed on demand and which he slipped on. He pulled the top drawer and took out a small jewellery box containing Sara's collection of pendants and necklaces and his grandmother's wedding ring. He opened it with trembling fingers and let out a long relieved sigh.

"The house lays empty all night – almost every night as Hank goes to the sitter's," he surmised thoughtfully after a moment. "If they knew the likely times Sara'd be running with Hank at the park they had to have been watching us and the house. If they did, they had to have known about our routine and they could have come whenever suited them, key or no key. Why pick daytime when there are more chances of getting caught? No. No, no, this is different. This _feels_ different."

"It's…someone who knows about the two of you living together when we blatantly didn't," Catherine said a little more reproachfully than she intended. She didn't mean the harsh and certainly unfair dig but her frustrations about the case, about Sara were getting the better of her. She took a deep breath to calm herself but Grissom was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to take the bait. "What about the alarm system?" she continued when the silence became awkward. "Presumably it's on when you're out?" Catherine stopped talking abruptly. "It wasn't on last night though, was it?"

Brass asked, "Do you think they were watching the house when Hank came to get you and knew you'd left without setting the alarm?"

Grissom's eyes widened at the thought. "Then, we're looking at _more_ than two assailants."

"Do you keep any on-going case files at home?" Catherine then asked him, still looking for a motive that would explain a robbery. It was a better prospect than thinking Grissom and Sara were targets.

Grissom shrugged, giving Catherine's observations some thought. "Sometimes – but not recently and certainly not yesterday. And besides, it's usually stuff related to the running of the lab itself, shift's rosters, evaluations, statistics, budget, stuff like that." He paused for breath. "You know I don't keep anything confidential or case-related here. It's against policy."

Catherine nodded distractedly as she stared at the bed.

"What are you thinking, Catherine?" Grissom asked recognising the faraway look on his colleague's face.

"I'm not sure." She bent down and opened her kit, taking out the ALS, filter and her safety goggles. "I'm thinking that if the bed being the only thing disturbed in the house is symbolic then there might be a message there." She put on the goggles and turned the device on before sweeping the U/V light over the bed sheets.

"Sara changed the sheets yesterday after…" Grissom began to explain before swiftly averting his gaze to the floor at the sight of dark patches appearing – semen stains brought out by the U/V light. He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden feeling of nausea that filled him as he thought of what appeared to have taken place in his and Sara's bed.

The look of revulsion on Catherine's face said it all. "Gil, are you all right?" she asked on noticing Grissom blanch.

Looking like he was going to be sick, he brought his hand to his mouth, closing his eyes and then nodded his head slowly. "Just give me a minute."

Catherine waited for Grissom to regain some of his composure before observing, "Knowing Sara, I assume you boil wash your sheets?"

Grissom's only reply was to nod his head wearily. Then he took a deep breath and met Catherine's eye. "Fill the rest of the team in. Get them to come and process the bed and the room with a fine tooth comb. DNA from the semen, epithelial, hairs, there's got to be something here we can tie to the assault on Sara." He made to leave the bedroom but noticed that the door to the master bath was shut. "You cleared the bathroom?" he then asked Brass abruptly.

"_I_ didn't." The tone of his reply implied that one of his men must have done. "Why?"

"The door's shut," Grissom stated.

Brass looked round over his shoulder and reached for his service weapon.

"That wouldn't be the first time PD's slack about clearing a house, Jim," Catherine mumbled, also getting her gun out of her holster.

"Oh, come on, Cath," Brass replied raising his gun in a covering stance. "No signs of forced entry; nothing missing or disturbed from the outset. If it hadn't been Grissom's house I wouldn't have been called at all." He motioned with his head for Grissom to open the bathroom door. Grissom gingerly turned the handle and inched the door open, keeping tight against the wall. Brass stormed in gun first, checked the bathroom and declared it 'clear'. Grissom and Catherine shared a visibly relieved look and were returning their attention to the bed when they heard Brass let out an audible gasp.

"Jesus," the detective muttered from the bathroom.

Grissom rushed into the small room and followed Brass's stunned gaze. "Oh my god," he gasped paling as he brought his hand to his mouth.

Catherine joined her colleagues and could only stare speechless at the message written in red lipstick on the wall mirror over the basin. _She deserved to die._ _How does it feel Mr Grissom, to lose what you love the most in your life?_

Catherine turned her head, catching a glimpse of Grissom. He was incensed; she could tell from the sudden look of fury in his eyes. He slammed his fist on the shower glass door, shattering it and swore aloud. "She's leaving me clues on purpose," he said angrily. "Sara, the bed and now this. She thinks we can't catch her." He was almost shouting now.

"Maybe they're not afraid to be caught," Brass interjected.

"Or she knows we won't find anything that can positively ID them," Grissom retorted. He let out a frustrated throaty growl and buried his head in his hands.

"That'd certainly go some way to explaining why they didn't bother to cover their tracks by staging a robbery," Brass stated.

"She wants me to stay on her trail. She's messing with me, Jim. She's messing with my head and I can't figure out why."

"_She_?" Catherine repeated with disbelief, sharing a look of concern with Brass. "You think a woman's behind all this?" Grissom was frantically shaking his head, whether in disbelief of the situation, in response to her question or because he was losing his mind, Catherine couldn't tell. But all of her sudden, an overwhelming feeling of doom filled her. "Gil!" she shouted, trying to jar him out of his panic. "How do you know it's a '_she'_?"

Grissom's eyes seemed to find their focus again and he looked at Catherine desolately. "Look at the handwriting. It's small, neat, curvy…feminine. She used lipstick-"

"Maybe that's all they could find," Brass argued.

"It's not Sara's shade," Grissom replied in a small voice. He paused, scrutinising the message, mumbling it to himself, committing it to memory. "Look at the choice of words," he told Catherine. "It sounds…it feels familiar."

"Familiar?" Catherine whispered, aghast. She shared another look with Brass, who looking equally crestfallen just shrugged back.

"Someone you know?" Brass said in disbelief. "An active case? Someone who's on trial? Someone with a grudge? The list of potential suspects is long here, Gil," Brass muttered short-temperedly.

"Oh my god, Sara," Grissom whispered to himself. Then turning to his colleagues, he said, "she's in danger." He scrambled for his cell in his pocket, frantically scrolled down the list of entries to Desert Palm and dialled the number, demanding to be put through to the ICU. Simultaneously, Brass reached for the radio in his pocket and called dispatch ordering that a uniformed officer be stationed outside Sara's door at all times.

"What do you mean by familiar?" Catherine asked as soon as Grissom had ended the call. "Do you know who's behind this?"

Grissom didn't reply. Before she could stop him, he just stormed out of the bathroom, headed back to the kitchen.

"Gil? Where are you going?" she called following after him. "Gil?"

Grissom grabbed his car keys off the kitchen island counter top and took the stairs two at a time up to the front door. On his way, he pulled his brown suede jacket off the coat tree and felt the inner pocket for his wallet. Catching sight of Sara's leather jacket hanging next to his, he paused and slowly ran his hand along the sleeve, heaving a shuddering breath.

Catherine's face was contorted in anguish. "GRISSOM! ANSWER ME," she shouted desperately as he turned to leave the house.

Grissom stopped at the threshold and looked at Catherine over his shoulder. "I'm going to take my car and go back to the hospital. I need to be with Sara to protect her. I've got to keep her safe, Cath; I've got to keep her alive. I'm trusting you with this," he said with a wave toward the house.

"Protect her from whom?" Catherine whispered to herself.

Brass placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Let him go Catherine. We'll figure it out."

Catherine cast a sad look toward the detective, shaking her head in despair. "What does he mean 'keep her alive'?"

Brass shrugged. "He feels responsible for what happened to her, Catherine. Let him go. At least that way, he's out of harm's way." Catherine let out a long breath, nodding her head. "I've put a uni on her door," the detective added reassuringly. "They'll keep an eye on him – and me informed."

Catherine nodded again. "Okay. I'm…I'm going to call the guys to help process this." Catherine's stomach let a sudden rumbling sound. "I'm sorry, Jim," she apologised with a disbelieving shake of the head, "the apple I grabbed this morning didn't fill much of a hole. Yesterday's breakfast at Frank's seems a long way away." She sounded down and dispirited.

Brass smiled fondly. He felt his suit pockets, took his radio out of the left one and reached for a battered power bar, which he smoothed out somewhat self-consciously before handing to Catherine.

The CSI grimaced. "That's at least a week's worth of calories, Jim," she said with a small smile. She pursed her lips and snatched the treat out of his hand, nodding her thanks.

"It'll do you good," he replied, watching as she carefully took the wrapper off and a hungry bite. "You okay?"

"No," Catherine murmured. She shrugged her shoulders in a helpless manner and forced a smile as she finished chewing. "But I'm going to have to be, aren't I?" She sighed. "I'll be fine. Come on; give me a hand in the bedroom until the cavalry gets here."

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Tbc.

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A/N: Please, leave a review. I need and love your feedback, so please share your thoughts and theories. Let me know how this is going so far!


	15. Chapter 15

Warrick came out of Sara's hospital room in a state of stupor, the devastating news he had just been told replaying painfully in his brain. He ran a weary hand over his face and was looking around the corridor dazedly and wondering how the hell he was going to break the news to the others when he noticed the baffling presence of Officer Cooper standing guard a few feet away. Too upset to make idle chitchat, he barely acknowledged the officer and suddenly turned on his heels, headed in the opposite direction. He wandered down to the end of the corridor and stopped abruptly. Without warning, he turned toward the wall and punched his fist into it as hard as he could.

As though in a trance he lifted his bleeding knuckles to his face and stared incredulously at the broken skin, angry tears burning in the corners of his eyes. Then he slumped forward, resting the top of his head on the wall and slid down to a crouching position before folding himself into a tight ball. His hands gripping the back of his head tightly, he began to rock gently.

"_Hey, Sar," Warrick said making a beeline for the fridge._

"_Hey."_

_Warrick reached in for a bottle of water, easily twisted the lid off and drained it in one. "Quiet night, huh?"_

"_Makes a nice change," Sara replied distractedly without looking up from the article she was reading. _

"_You're coming along to Frank's for breakfast?"_

_She looked up and asked tentatively, "Who's going to be there?"_

"_The usual crowd. Why?"_

_Sara shrugged as she thought about it and then decided to pass. She was looking forward to a hot shower and an early cuddle in bed. "Oh, I don't know," she said with mock-hesitation after a moment. "I'm bushed and I could do with an early night."_

"_What's more important than make time to see your friends, Sara?" Warrick asked playfully as he shot a basket into the tr__ash can__ with the empty water bottle. "And it's in!" he exclaimed gleefully, earning an amused shake of the head from his friend and colleague._

"_We spend all shift together, Rick. What about spending some quality time with your wife, huh?" Sara replied mildly. She obviously hit a raw nerve, for Warrick's mood visibly darkened._

"_Girl, you're no fun anymore."_

"_Hey, guys," Grissom greeted on entering the break room, headed for the sink. Sara nodded and returned her attention to the article while Warrick sank down onto one of the chairs opposite Sara. "Oh, it's like that is it?" Grissom asked jovially as he glanced over his shoulder while rinsing his cup. He turned round, leaning against the countertop. "You're coming to Frank's? I'm buying."_

"_Oh, wonders will never cease," Warrick exclaimed, visibly perking up at the prospect. "That's what I was talking about," he added to Sara. "You hear that? Not only Griss wants to spend time with us, he's even offering to shout for it." He let out an easy chuckle and got up, joining Grissom at the sink. "Way to go, man," he said, clasping his arm around his boss while Sara pouted at him good-humouredly. "I'm in but I'm afraid Miss-has-no-fun-anymore says she'd rather to go to bed."_

_Grissom's brow lifted in surprise. "She would?" _

_Sara rolled her eyes and pulled a fed-up 'How was I supposed to know you'd break the habit of a lifetime and decide to come' face._

_Grissom shrugged back. "Oh, too bad," he said casually with a 'How was I supposed to know you'd break the habit of a lifetime and decide not to go' apologetic stare._

_Warrick watched the silent eye exchange between Sara and Grissom with interest but then shook it off with a disbelieving 'Nah'. He pushed himself off the counter saying, "I'll catch you there," to Grissom and a "See you tonight," to Sara._

"Warrick! Warrick!"

Startled by the sound of Grissom's distressed shouts, Warrick looked round, took a deep breath and straightened up, running his shaky hand through his hair. Grissom was running toward him, his breathing ragged and he looked agitated and harassed.

"Griss, you're back," the tall African-American man greeted with evident relief.

"Sara's okay?" Grissom asked anxiously with a glance toward her hospital room.

Warrick looked at Grissom with confusion. "Okay?" he repeated warily. "How do you mean?"

"Nothing's happened while I was gone?"

Warrick stared incredulously at Grissom and then shook his head. "Is that why Cooper's drawn the short straw?" he wondered aloud. Grissom didn't reply, merely glanced at the officer guarding Sara's door. Warrick sighed. "They let me sit with her for a while but they're doing some stuff on her now so..." He paused, motioned with his hand for Grissom to take a seat and slumped down onto a hospital chair himself. "Why didn't you tell us, man?"

Grissom did a double take at the tone of Warrick's voice and then looked away uncomfortably, his shoulders rising in a helpless shrug. Sighing, he sat down on the chair next to Warrick and resting his elbows on his thighs he leaned over and rubbed his face tiredly. Warrick watched on helplessly as his boss attempted – in vain – to control his inner demons. Eventually, the latter looked up and fixed his gaze straight ahead on the wall.

"What do you want me to tell you, Warrick?" Grissom began somewhat impatiently. "Explain why we chose to keep our relationship a secret? Keep it private?" His voice got gradually quieter and Warrick had to strain to hear above the hospital noises. Grissom wiped his eyes, his bottom lip trembling slightly. "It's just ours," he went on sadly. "It's the only thing that could truly be ours and ours only. What Sara and I share is special." He paused and looked sideways, meeting Warrick's confused gaze. "We didn't want anybody to know. We have too much to lose."

Shaking his head, Warrick put his hand on Grissom's arm, stopping his boss's heartbreaking admission. "Griss, I wasn't asking about your relationship with Sara," he cut in decisively. "I understand your need for privacy. No, I …"

"You didn't know about it?"

"Oh, I knew about it all right." Warrick shook his head and slowly tapped his temple with the tip of his index finger. "I figured it out for myself, only today mind." He smiled. "I'm surprised I didn't pick up the love vibes from Sidle though. She never gave the game away."

Grissom just nodded his head musingly, mirroring Warrick's wistful smile.

The latter's gaze hardened. "No, what I meant was…" Hesitating to speak his mind, he paused and looked at Grissom gauging for his boss's erratic mood swings. Grissom's gaze was once more fixed on the opposite wall, so Warrick continued with a sigh, "I had a word with Sara's doctor…" Grissom looked round abruptly. "…huh, a Dr Flanders? And he told me that-"

Grissom's eyes were wide with fury. "He had no right to talk to you about Sara's condition," he spat through gritted teeth, lest they should be overheard. "These are confidential records-"

Baffled by his boss's sudden flare-up Warrick lifted a placating hand, sighing. "I came in a professional capacity, Griss," he interrupted. "Catherine sent me to get an official update to see how Sara's doing." His patience waning, his words sounded harsher than he meant them. "Griss, you told us she was _sleeping,_ for God's sake. Nick's friend said she was critical. What – _who_ were we supposed to believe, huh? We had to find out the truth somehow! You know we all care about Sara."

"Well, now you know," Grissom almost shouted as he quickly got to his feet. He looked around self-consciously and then began pacing the floor in front of Warrick frantically. He stopped and glared at his friend furiously. Then, lowering his tone menacingly he spat, "You know _everything_."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Warrick asked again, his eyes shining with tears. "She got beat up bad, man. She got beat up real bad," he repeated in a whisper.

"BECAUSE IT'S PRIVATE," Grissom shouted in Warrick's face, making the latter, the officer at the door and a passing nurse jump. He flinched at the sound of his own voice and his whole body shaking in nervous spasms, he turned away.

"I'm sorry," Warrick said quickly, realising he's pushed Grissom over the edge. "I didn't mean that. I shouldn't have said that." He got up and clasped his hand over Grissom's shoulder in apology. "I was out of line. I wasn't thinking. It's been a long night."

Breathing hard, Grissom nodded but ashamed of his outburst he shrugged the younger man's hand off. "Go home, Warrick," he said not making eye contact with his protégé. "Go home to your wife. Spend time with her. Don't leave it till it's too late." He brushed past Warrick and then the officer at the door and burst his way into Sara's room.

Warrick stared at the closing door in disbelief and then shook his head at how badly he'd handled the conversation. He acknowledged the police officer's curious stare with a curt nod and turned around, headed out. Glad to be finally out in the fresh air, he took a few deep calming breaths as he strode to his car and then slid behind the wheel. He was resting his head on the steering wheel attempting to gather his thoughts when he remembered that his phone was switched off. Reaching into his jacket pocket he turned the device back on, only to be met with an instant beeping alerting him to three voicemails – the first one from Tina and the next two from a troubled Catherine.

With a heavy sigh and no second thoughts, he speed dialled Catherine's number.

* * *

Grissom stood at the door, his hand on the handle and stared as Dr Flanders reattached the electrodes hooking Sara to the electroencephalograph. He took a few deep calming breaths, his anger almost instantly dissipating, and then unconsciously smiled with relief on seeing Sara exactly the way he had left her. _Sleeping._

The neurosurgeon turned and acknowledged Grissom with a nod. The latter unsure on how to react to Dr Flanders' presence in the room hesitantly approached the bed. "I thought you were waiting until tomorrow morning to carry out the second series of tests," he said quietly.

Dr Flanders smiled. "We are."

Grissom's confused frown deepened and he reached under the bed sheet for Sara's hand. "Are there any changes to her condition?" he asked with the barest trace of hope, his soft gaze fixed on Sara.

The neurosurgeon looked a little equivocal in his response and then managed a quick "No".

Grissom's head shot up and round. "That wasn't a resounding no," he said tentatively. "You noticed a change? Is that why you changed the electrodes for Sara's EEG?"

The doctor sighed. "No. Well, not really." He made quick eye contact with Grissom and then watched Sara as he continued, "Not a change as such. More an… irregularity in the EEG reading. A blip in the recording."

"A blip?"

Dr Flanders paused in thought and shrugged an uncertain shoulder. "An unexplained and unexpected," he stopped, searching for the correct term, "sudden spike."

Grissom's brow was arched in avid interest. "And how do you explain that?"

"I don't. It's a random, isolated peak. We're putting it down to a mechanical…" Dr Flanders shrugged his shoulders again in evident bafflement, "…I don't know. Maybe the monitor got knocked somehow."

Grissom brushed the back of his hand against Sara's face lovingly and smiled. "You said a spike, though, not a dip." He looked up. "A spike's good. Can I see it?"

The doctor considered Grissom's query and then nodded. He reached on the table for the EEG recording and unrolled a long strip of paper. Grissom walked round the bed and studied the line. "As you can see," Dr Flanders said, pointing at the isolated peak, "It's almost not there."

Grissom nodded distractedly. "Still. It's unusual. Even you've got to admit to that." The doctor conceded the point with a nod of his head. "When did this _blip_ occur?"

"A few hours ago, earlier this morning." The doctor moved to the end of the bed and consulted Sara's medical chart. "Some time between 9.00 and 9.15 am, to be precise, the nurse made a note of it on the chart."

Grissom paused and watched Sara for a moment. Then his lips curled into the tenderest of smiles in realisation. "Between 9.00 and 9.15," he repeated his smile broadening, "I was here then. That's just before the nurse came to do Sara's obs. I was still here then and the EEC machine definitely didn't get knocked or moved in any way," he blurted out his explanation, unable to conceal his astonished delight at the news. "I was sat on that chair on the other side of the bed and I never moved."

"I know," the doctor conceded quickly. "The day nurse told me you were sleeping." He then watched Grissom for a moment and sighed. "Mr Grissom, you mustn't get your hopes up. As I said, I strongly believe it's just…one of these things."

"One of these things?" Grissom repeated.

Dr Flanders nodded. "It's not reoccurred since and most probably won't again. But we _are_ closely monitoring her condition and another head CT's been scheduled for tomorrow morning as Dr Vandenberg told you." He paused, pushing his glasses up his nose a little uneasily. "Talking about scans…hum…I'm sorry I was unavailable this morning to speak to you about the results of Sara's CT scan. I understand Dr Vandenberg did though and that he was a little…over-zealous in his approach. I'd have preferred to be present when he told you the sad news."

Grissom nodded absently. "You really think there's no hope?" he asked in a murmur his eyes on Sara.

"I don't know about hope, Mr Grissom. All I know is what my years of experience and professional opinion – and the science, of course – tell me. And Sara, too. That's all I can base my judgements on-"

Grissom nodded again. Normally, he would agree entirely and yet…he sighed, unwilling to relinquish his meagre crumb of hope. "But the peak…"

"As I said...is extraordinary, yes. I've ever only seen something like that once before in a patient with similar injuries to Sara's."

Grissom turned a quizzical look at the doctor. "Did they…"

Dr Flanders shook his head. "It never happened again and no, they didn't…" he patted Grissom's shoulder warmly letting his words trail.

His eyes on Sara Grissom nodded his understanding bleakly.

"Have you called her mother?" the doctor then asked. Grissom turned abruptly and shook his head. "I think you should," he added kindly.

"That's not what Sara would want."

"Maybe, but whatever differences they had in the past get wiped clean in instances like these. Her mother might want to say goodbye."

"They told each other goodbye a long time ago," Grissom murmured after a moment.

"That may be the case." The doctor rubbed his face warily. "I shouldn't really say this but I think you might need an ally…and ultimately Sara's mother might be the only person whose opinions count. Listen," he then added, "court proceedings can take a long time, months or years even. The issue of next-of-kin is a contentious one in Medicine. From what Mr Purcell told me-"

"I'll think about it," Grissom cut in tersely.

Dr Flanders smiled and patted Grissom sympathetically on the shoulder. "It's entirely up to you." He paused thoughtfully and smiled. "Is that why you felt the need for armed guards? Are you trying to keep Purcell out of here?"

Grissom let out a small chuckle, his first one in nearly twenty-four hours, and met the doctor's gaze. "Would it work?" he asked rhetorically. "But no," he added with a quick shake of the head, his eyes darkening. "We think Sara may still be at risk from her attackers."

"You think someone would try to get to her here?"

"I think that they may be desperate enough to at least try, yes."

"Do you know who they are?"

Grissom shook his head. "My team's working on it."

"Okay. Well, I'm due in surgery in half-an-hour and I need prepping. So if you don't mind…"

"Thank you for your candour, Dr Flanders," Grissom said, extending his hand to the doctor. "I appreciate it."

Smiling, the doctor shook Grissom's hand warmly. "You're welcome." He turned headed for the door. As he put his hand on the handle, he looked over his shoulder and said, "And please, _try_ not to hope for a miracle. Even if the isolated peak _is_ a sign that Sara's showing _some_ signs of brain activity – and I strongly doubt it – it's almost nothing."

With his back to the doctor and his gaze and smile firmly on Sara, Grissom slowly nodded his head in understanding. As soon as the door closed, Grissom drew the chair nearer the bed and sat down on it. He felt lighter, his eyes shining with renewed hope as he squeezed Sara's hand softly.

"Sara?" he called in a whisper. "Sara? It's me honey. You can wake up now." He smiled, brought her hand to his face and laid his head on the bed. "Talk to me, honey. Please, talk to me."

* * *

Tbc.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Your reviews caused a reshuffle and yet another rewrite of this chapter. Just when I thought I had it sussed…

I know this is a wee bit shorter than what you're used to but I wanted to have a little undisturbed _happiness_, if we can ever call it that in the circumstance, before more woe. So Grissom's _chat_ or _power nap_ with Sara is in two parts. I hope you enjoy. Let me know, I value your opinion. :-)

* * *

"Sara?" he called in a whisper. "Sara? It's me honey. You can wake up now." He smiled, brought her hand to his face and laid his head on the bed. "Talk to me, honey. Please, talk to me." Grissom allowed his eyes to drift shut and sleep to envelop him as he let out a long blissful breath.

Sara lifted the hand his was holding up to his face and stroked his closed eyes pensively. He looked troubled, tired and drained despite the soft smile adorning his lips as he slept. She smiled instinctively on feeling the tension and anxiety seep out of him and folded down the collar on the brown suede coat he was wearing, thinking back to the trip to the mall she had made when she had bought it for him. _His birthday._ Her smile broadened at the recollection. Then she let out a sad, wistful sigh, her heart twisting in pain as she realised that that last birthday, the only one celebrated as a couple, might be their last one together. She slowly ran her hand over the sleeve of the jacket, reveling in the feel of the soft material on her skin and brought her watery gaze back to his face.

How many more precious moments like these would they be granted?

Unconsciously, she must have passed on her longing for him because Grissom slowly blinked his eyes open as though awoken from a spell. He smiled at the vision before him, his eyes shining brighter and happier for seeing her. They silently gazed adoringly into each other's eyes for a long moment and then Sara blinked and flicked her gaze to his mouth, breaking the connection.

Sadly, she had a job to do.

Drawing a deep breath she made eye contact again but her gaze had dulled. "He's right, you know?" she murmured softly at last, touching her hand to the side of his face. She curled her lips into a smile, holding his gaze. "You mustn't get your hopes up."

Grissom's smile faded and he looked down, sighing. "I'm not." He paused and glanced up. "I just…I have faith in you," he said in a small voice. Then, seeing the sadness in her eyes, he added, "I can't…_ not_ hope." His shoulders rose into a small hug. "I just can't."

"You heard what Dr Flanders said. It's nothing more than an anomaly. A blip, Gil, he called it a blip."

"I can't," he repeated fervently. "That'd mean I'd have given up on you and I won't ever do that."

Sara nodded with a sigh but didn't push. There was still time.

He took her hand and played with her fingers for a moment, his lips anxiously pinched together into a tight line. "Let's wait until tomorrow to talk about all this, okay?" he choked out. "Can we just…make the most of what we have now?" He looked up and forced a smile. "Please?"

Sara paused and then nodded, flashing her brightest smile at him. She sighed as she watched the emotions reflected in his eyes turn sorrowful – the spark that had lit them a moment ago gone replaced with fear and torment. "Come. Lay down beside me," she said quietly, shuffling to one side of the bed.

He looked pleasantly surprised. "You sure? I wouldn't want to-"

"Do what? Hurt me?" She laughed softy. "Don't be shy," she said teasingly as she patted the bed before smiling mischievously. "I won't break and as I recall, we've shared much tighter space than this." His brow furrowed into a puzzled frown. "Besides, I need your warmth."

"You cold?"

Sara shook her head. "More comfort than warmth, I guess. I just want to feel you near me." She closed her eyes and smiled, taking a deep breath. "I want to be able to smell you."

Grissom gingerly perched himself on the edge of the bed and brought her hand to his face. Sara's eyes snapped open and she shook her head disapprovingly. She tugged her hand back and him toward her. "Lay down next to me, please."

Grissom did. He smiled, watching her tenderly and spread himself down onto the small hospital bed. When he was settled Sara turned on her side and nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder. She snuggled into him with his hand clasping hers over his heart and they closed their eyes blissfully.

To Sara, this was what Heaven should be.

Time stood still for a while and they could forget. Content and at peace, their calm breathing synchronised as one, they simply relished each other's company and the time they still had together.

"We weren't as comfortable as this," Grissom murmured musingly after a moment. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful and nostalgic. "The ground was too hard and my back hurt for a week afterwards."

Sara smiled at the recollection. "The view made up for it, though."

"It certainly did."

"October the 22nd of last year. You took me out to the desert for a romantic date."

"I had amends to make."

She giggled. "You hoped we weren't too late to catch the Orionid meteor shower."

Grissom chuckled. "Well, by the time we got there the real thing had been and gone but it was a perfect night for stargazing nevertheless."

"You picked the perfect spot."

"Hmmm…it was freezing cold."

"We were _snug_," she cut in, stretching upward to silence him with a soft kiss. "Sharing a sleeping bag with you was a much better experience than sharing that small blanket all those years ago," she added cheekily.

"Sara, we couldn't do the side zipper up." He shook his head, smiling at his forgetfulness and then mused, "I'm afraid I had other things than packing on my mind that night."

"We were much like we are now," Sara continued.

Grissom snorted. "We ended up taking cover in the back of the truck-"

"You pointed skyward and slowly named all the constellations we could see one by one," Sara cut in earnestly, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. "Then you stopped and pointed to a single bright star, somewhere between Orion and Gemini."

"The brightest star in the sky," Grissom stated with a wistful smile. "Sirius."

Sara nodded. "Do you remember what you told me then?"

His smile widened and he nodded, pressing a kiss to her hair. _"Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,-__**"**_

"_-Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels,"_ Sara finished.

Grissom bit his bottom lip in amusement. "Why settle for mediocre me when Longfellow put it so much more eloquently?"

She laughed. "I'd hardly call your prose mediocre, Gil."

"I just wish…I could have put into words everything I've ever felt for you and never said."

"Words are overrated," she countered lightly. "Besides, your eyes have always told me everything I need to know about how you feel." She paused in thought. "That night, just the two of us snuggled in your _vintage_ sleeping bag," she gave a little laugh and her eyes blissfully closed as she took in a deep breath, "gazing at the stars…it was magical. It was all I wanted. We didn't need words then and we still don't."

Grissom nodded solemnly and fell silent turning melancholic as he thought back to their wondrous night in the cold desert. "You made love to me," he whispered in her ear.

Sara seemed taken aback by his uncharacteristic candour and then burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" he asked, his tone amused.

"Nothing," she laughed. "Go to sleep."

"Come on, Sara," he said tickling her side. "That's exactly what you said to me then and it didn't work. Did you not enjoy yourself?"

She laughed and then batted his hand away, her face turning serious. "You know I did. You know full well I did," she repeated meaningfully. "I loved every minute of it. It's just that…" she laughed uneasily, "It was …my first time."

Grissom abruptly propped himself up on his elbow and looked at her quizzically. "Your first time for what?" he asked hesitantly. Then his face scrunched up in painful realisation. "Surely, I made you… before…Sara?"

"No, silly," she giggled shaking her head in disbelief. "Not that. It was the first time…I…you know…that I ever…did it in the open air."

"Oh." He burst out laughing and the sound of his carefree laughter warmed Sara to her core. She pinched his side playfully causing him to collapse on top of her. He made eye contact and stared gravely before lifting his shoulder in a small shrug. "Me too," he confessed quickly. "I, too, was an…outdoor virgin," he said in all seriousness.

It was Sara's turn to laugh now, a happy laugh that resonated deep within him. "We stayed up till sunrise," she continued. "We talked and talked-"

Grissom pulled a face. "_You_ talked. I just wanted to make out." Sara giggled. "We had fun, didn't we?" he said, sobering up.

Sara nodded. "The best night of my life," she murmured, staring back at him lovingly. "We'll always have this, Gil," she added brightly when she noticed the shadows in his eyes. "Whatever happens, we'll always have the memories of our time together."

"I wasted so much time-" he said with a sigh, shifting onto his back.

"Which you made up since, a thousand times over." Sara burrowed just a little deeper into his side and began stroking her fingers through his beard, loving the soft bristly feel of it on her skin. "I wouldn't have our time together any other way, Gil. I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "Me neither." He pressed a long kiss to her forehead. "Me neither."

Sara sighed contently and let her eyes drift shut lulled by the sound of his breathing and his heart beating in his chest. After a while, as his soft snores drifted down to her she looked up toward him and watched him for a long time with a sad look in her eyes.

A slow smile spread across Grissom's face. "What?" he asked playfully after a moment, sensing her eyes on him.

"Despite your best efforts at faking sleep, something's troubling you, I can tell."

Grissom paused, the smile dying on his lips and then he let out a small sigh.

"Come on, Gil. It's me," Sara probed kindly at his refusal to open up. "You know you can't keep anything from me." She propped herself on her elbow and let her fingers smooth out the worry lines on his face. "Besides, your pulse is at 95," she sighed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head quickly. "No."

"Gil..."

He opened his eyes and forced a smile. "Not now. Maybe later but now…please, can we just…" he swallowed and gently pulled Sara back down to his chest, "can we just _be_ together for a little while longer? Like we were?"

Sara pinched her lips together, resettled herself and nodded into his shoulder. "Sure." She angled her face toward his neck and closed her eyes letting his scent fill her whole. She drew in slow, deep breaths committing the moment to memory. Then she dropped her lips to his throat and felt his breath catch. She smiled and trailed a few slow kisses up to the corner of his mouth. Grissom shifted under her, his lips parting instinctively. "Is this better?" she murmured teasingly.

"Much."

He turned himself round on his side so they faced each other and then he inclined his head to the right as he watched her intently. Sara smiled and closed her eyes so she could better feel his gaze on her. He tentatively trailed his free hand around the curve of her face, stopping to cup her cheek. He brushed feather-like fingers over her closed eyes and then his lips over them causing Sara to gasp sharply in surprise.

The love emanating from each of his tender ministration and from each of the hot and ragged breaths that ignited Sara's skin was so encompassing, so all consuming that her eyes filled with spontaneous tears. Overwhelmed by his open display of devotion, Sara clenched her eyes shut tighter, releasing her tears down her face.

Grissom moved back and watched Sara cry silently, his heart breaking over her heartache. He wordlessly wiped her tears with his thumb and she reopened her eyes, smiling shyly at him. His face mere millimetres from hers and looking deep into her eyes, he smiled softly back and then brushed his lips tenderly over hers.

Sara blinked, more tears spilling over down her cheeks to her mouth and chin. Feeling the moisture of her tears onto his lips, Grissom smiled and pulled back a little. "Don't cry," he breathed almost inaudibly against her lips. He moved to the left corner of her mouth and kissed the tears away on that side. "Please, don't be sad," he soothed before moving to do the same on the other side, "I won't let this be our last time together, I promise."

Smiling through more tears, Sara nodded her head slowly, pulling him close to her and then with her head on his shoulder squeezed him tight to her as though she was trying to melt into him.

"I love you so much," he choked out in her ear before pulling back from her embrace. "I'm sorry I never told you enough."

"It's never too late."

He smiled tenderly, slowly nodding his agreement and kissed her again softly on the lips before lying both of them back down onto the bed. As Sara once more settled her head on his shoulder, she felt his smiling lips brush the top of her head and linger there. "There will be other times," he whispered musingly. "I'll make sure of that."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Part two of their _chat_ soon… I LOVE to hear from you, so don't forget to leave a review. They are very encouraging. :-)


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: First, let me apologize. I realise that tissues don't come cheap and that the story should have come with a warning. Well, a second warning. Use handkerchiefs instead of paper tissues; they are much friendlier to the planet. And I absolutely forbid the use of your sarong to dry tears or any other bodily fluids that may be running down your face at the same time.

And for those of you who didn't appreciate the _fluff_ from the last chapter, (yes, you are many but do tell me in a review instead of pm's; it boosts up my statistics!), here's some more ANGST. Enjoy...

_

* * *

_

_There will be other times; I'll make sure of that._ Sara nodded into his shoulder and closed her eyes, silently musing over his words. After a while, she began to draw with her index finger slow, soothing patterns on his chest. "You know," she said a little cautiously, glancing in his direction, "Warrick came by earlier."

Grissom paused, his face shutting off and he shifted uncomfortably. "I know," he replied in a drawn out sigh.

"He seemed to know about us. You told the guys?"

"No." He paused with a short sigh and then added, "Brass and Catherine know. I couldn't keep it from them. And if Warrick's worked it out, it's only a matter of time before Nick and Greg do too – if they haven't already."

Sara nodded distractedly. "You should…tell them about us. There's no reason to keep it a secret now and it would be easier on you – all of you – if you did." Grissom didn't move or reply and Sara began nervously fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. "Warrick didn't seem to know about…the real extent of my injuries," she added carefully, turning to gauge the reaction on his face. "That is until Dr Flanders told him. Why didn't you tell them the truth?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not? They have a right to know."

Grissom gently removed Sara's hand from his collar and turned his face away, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Grissom shrugged as he thought about his answer. "In order to be able to tell them, I'd have to admit it to myself."

"Admit what, Gil?" Sara probed kindly.

He let out a lengthy breath and then met her gaze. "I'd have to accept that…you're not coming back to me." He chewed his bottom lip anxiously, holding her gaze. Then he flicked his gaze to the wall. "But I'm not ready to do that. Not yet."

"It's not fair on them," she countered, her voice low and even.

"I'm sure Warrick's spread the good news already."

She lifted her hand to his face and coaxed it round so he had no choice but look at her. "That may well be the case," she conceded quietly, "but regardless, they should have heard it from you. They look up to you. They…"

"I know, all right?" he snapped tersely, pushing her hand away. Then he sighed regretting his outburst. "I know and I'm sorry. It's just that…" he rubbed his face roughly, "Can we…not do this right now? Please?"

"Gil…you can't keep pretending like everything's going to be okay."

Grissom clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head from side to side as though trying to make their conversation stop. "Sara, I'm sorry. I'm not doing this right now."

"You can't-"

He was quickly growing more and more agitated, sweat beading on his forehead. "Stop, Sara stop," he interrupted. "Please. I'm not ready. I…"

"We haven't got much time left…" she continued hauntingly. "You need to…"

"Stop, please," he pleaded weakly. "It's too soon. You promised me you'd wait until _I _was ready."

"Gil, listen to me…" she tried more forcefully.

"No." His head was burrowing deeper into the bed. "Sara, why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded desolately, gripping his head with both hands to make the voices stop as he neared breaking point.

"Because I love you," she cried in a whisper. "Because it breaks my heart to see you like this."

"No…"

"Gil, don't you see? If you let it, the burning anger, that rage and fury I see in your eyes, all the resentment will just eat away at you and destroy who you are."

Grissom was panting, writhing on the bed as though possessed. His eyes were clenched tightly shut, his hands frantically pulling at his hair, almost ripping clumps out. "Stop…" he begged.

Sara realised she had gone too far and had pushed too hard too quickly. He wasn't ready to face the truth, not yet. She paused full of remorse, took his hands in hers and murmuring soothing words, she gently prised them off his head. She pulled him to her and held him as he finally calmed. Then she stroked her hand to his face repeating in a haunting whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Gil." She rocked them both soothingly as you would a distraught child. "I didn't mean to upset you but...sshh, it's okay…but, please talk to me; please let me in."

He pushed off her. "What do you mean?"

She smiled shyly. "Don't shut me out."

"I'm not. How can you think that? You're here in my thoughts – constantly."

"You can't just share the good things with me." She paused and smiled broader, giving time for her words to sink in. "What are you afraid of?"

"Leave it alone."

"No, Gil," Sara said calmly. "What is it you don't want to tell me? What is it you don't want me to know?"

"Nothing."

"Then let me in," she repeated softly. "Just let me help you." She paused and watched as he finally gave in, nodding his head. "Have you caught the people who attacked me? Is that it?" she probed gently.

"No."

Sara stilled his shaking hands and held his gaze. "What is it then?" she asked with a smile. "Isn't there enough evidence to ID them? Is that what's upsetting you?" Grissom shook his head in reply and then closed his eyes. She could tell he was beaten. "Let me in."

"We got another scene," he said quietly at last.

"Another scene?" Sara's brow arched thoughtfully. "Related?" she asked, sitting up in bed next to him. He didn't reply. She stared into his eyes and saw the answer to her question. "Gil? You think this new crime scene is connected to my assault?"

He pulled his hands away and got up from the bed. He began pacing the room restlessly, his hand running over his head anxiously.

"Gil? Please, talk to me," Sara pleaded softly. "I can help. Is this new crime scene related to my assault?" He stopped pacing abruptly and turned to stare blankly at her. "Don't fight it. Talk to me," she said soothingly, holding out her hands to him. "Someone else got hurt?"

He shook his head and rejoined her side. "No one got hurt." He paused, took her hands in his and sat across from her on the bed. "I'm sorry about before. I-"

"Tell me."

Grissom looked down, nodding. He paused in thought and let out a quick breath. "The townhouse got broken into."

"Anything important got taken?" she asked unemotionally. He shook his head no. "Wait a minute," she mused. "You said this was related to my case. How do you know? Could it not…just be coincidental?"

"No." He buried his head in his hands and let out a low moan. "I'm absolutely certain that it's related." He made eye contact. "They used the key you thread on your shoelace to gain entry and…" He stopped talking abruptly and closed his eyes.

Sara narrowed her gaze. "Gil?"

"There was a personal message to me about you." His voice detached and expressionless he went on to relate every detail of the new crime scene.

Sara took it all in, silently and impassively. "You think a woman's behind all this?"

"Yeah. I'm sure of it."

"And she's toying with you."

Grissom smiled to himself miserably. "Yeah."

"_She deserved to die_," Sara mused, repeating aloud the first part of the message before looking up toward him abruptly. "Do you think they don't know that I'm still alive?"

Grissom looked up in interest. "How do you mean?"

"Well, is it '_She deserved to die'_ as in, she is dead and she got what she deserved? Or '_She deserved to die' _as in,we didn't succeed in killing her but she should have died."

Grissom pondered Sara's question for a moment. "I assumed they knew you were still alive but I suppose the way I found you at the park, they could have thought that…" he let his words trail and then took a frustrated breath. "She's left me all the pieces of the puzzle but I don't have a picture."

"Yet," Sara said optimistically.

"Yet," he repeated thoughtfully.

"You'll work it out. You always do."

"I don't know. This time, it's different."

"You will. I have faith in you." Sara lay back down on the bed and fixed her gaze to the ceiling. Then, she smiled and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "Two young white males – one a kid – attack me but you're absolutely certain a woman's behind the crime," she surmised in a weak murmur as she drifted off to sleep. "_O__ur_ _bed_ gets violated and the written message to you is very personal and meaningful. The whole shebang feels familiar…like the scene is being loosely recreated." Her words were coming faster now. "A woman with a grudge against us, and let's not forget sexual deviances, who uses _me_ to get to _you_." Sara laughed emptily as the penny finally dropped. "The lipstick's a nice touch, I'll grant you that. I'm surprised there wasn't a lingering cloud of cigarette smoke in the room."

"Griss?"

Grissom stared at Sara in disbelief. "You know who she is?"

Her eyes still closed, Sara pursed her lips into a small, knowing smile. "Crazy is as crazy does, Gil," she whispered.

"Griss?"

"Sara, I don't understand," Grissom shouted. "What do you mean?"

"Grissom!"

"Sara? Tell me her name!"

Sara opened her eyes a crack and smiled at Grissom lovingly. "You'll work it out. You always do." She closed her eyes again, the smile staying on her lips. "Greg's here," she whispered. "I'm going to go back to sleep now. I love you."

"Grissom wake up!"

Grissom felt himself being shaken with force and awoke with a start, panting and sweat and tears running down his face.

"Griss, are you all right?" Greg asked with concern. "I was about to call the nurse. You were thrashing about the bed, mumbling to yourself restlessly. I didn't know what to do."

Grissom looked around the room anxiously. He glanced at Sara, his gaze narrowed as he tried to remember the last words she had spoken to him. Then he shook his head, letting out a frustrated sigh, unable to remember.

"I must have fallen asleep," he told Greg. He wiped his eyes roughly and then ran his hand over his sweaty brow. "I'm not sure what…"

Greg eyed Grissom sympathetically and then swallowed as he picked up on his boss's confusion. "Hum…Warrick told us about…hum…Sara," Greg stammered quietly, breaking the awkward silence. "Is it…true?" The young CSI's gaze was now fixed on Sara and his whole body shook with the effort it took him to utter those three words.

Sara's words about the team looking up to him for guidance suddenly flashed in Grissom's mind. Knowing what he needed to do and say, he turned round and waited until Greg glanced toward him to hold the younger man's watery gaze. He took a deep breath then and gave him a slow, sad nod of the head in reply. Seeing that Greg was struggling to keep his composure in front of him, Grissom pinched his lips into a tight line and stood up abruptly, scraping the chair back loudly before clumsily clasping the younger man on the shoulder. He stood awkwardly for a moment, silently patting Greg's shoulder comfortingly, unable to offer more in lieu.

Finally, as Greg nodded that he was okay, Grissom asked, "Have you finished processing the townhouse already?"

Greg nodded, swallowing the tightness in his throat. "Yeah. Hours ago. I'd have come sooner but I was beat and…" the words died on Greg's lips and he drew upon himself, covering his face as he broke down in quiet sobs.

Grissom's face contorted in anguish and he quickly pulled Greg into an awkward hug. "It's okay," he told Greg soothingly. "It's okay. Just let it out," he added with tears in his voice. "I know what Sara means to you Greg. I'm sorry I couldn't find it in me to tell you and you had to find out the way you did."

He waited until Greg had calmed and then took a quick breath. Pushing Greg away to make eye contact, he forced a smile as he held the younger CSI's gaze. "You know," he began a little hesitantly, "I know for a fact that you mean just as much to Sara as she does to you." Greg wiped his eyes clumsily, doing a double take at his boss's heartfelt words. "You hold a special place in her heart."

Greg sniffed, smiling despite himself before giving Grissom a grateful nod of the head.

"Are you going to stay with Sara for a while?" Grissom then inquired quietly.

Greg nodded. "If it's okay."

Grissom looked toward Sara, smiling and winked at her. "She would love you to." Turning back toward Greg, he added, "What time is it?"

"A little after 5.30."

"Am?"

Greg was looking at Grissom strangely. "No. pm. It's still Sunday, Griss."

Grissom shook his head and then flashed a brief smile. "I'm going to go to the lab, prepare for shift. Stay, please. I _know_ Sara will appreciate your company."

Greg nodded drying the rest of his tears on his coat sleeve. He attempted to smile his gratefulness but the smile came out as a pained grimace and Greg pinched his lips anxiously. Grissom smiled at Greg and then squeezed his arm affectionately, whispering, "Keep the faith, Greg. Keep the faith."

* * *

Grissom nodded to Brewer, his swing shift counterpart, as he quietly made his way to his office. Not bothering to stop to acknowledge the man's well-meant good wishes regarding Sara he simply smiled stiffly back. He quickly reached his office and checked the wall clock. It read 6.15 pm. He turned, quietly closed the door after him and let down the blinds. His movement were calm and controlled, his inner struggle truly hidden. He let out a sigh and sat down behind his desk.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to gather his thoughts, remaining completely still as he tried to replay Sara's cryptic words in his mind. She knew who had done this to them. She knew the name of the woman who had masterminded the attack and destroyed their lives. She had worked it out from his meagre clues, from what he had told her and already knew himself. He would use Sara's insight and acumen, all the evidence and technology at his disposal to identify and track that woman down.

Then he would make her suffer, like he was suffering now, and she would pay for her crime. And he would make absolutely sure she paid the ultimate price.

"Okay," he told himself coolly. "Okay. Let's be smart about this." He was reaching for a pen and paper when he noticed a memo sheet on his desk with a brand-new house key taped to it. Reaching into his coat pocket for his reading glasses, he picked the note up.

_Gil,_

_Your voicemail box is full. Please do something about that. I've had the front door lock changed at the townhouse – not that I think they'll show again but…The new key's attached to memo. I left the spare one on the kitchen island unit at the townhouse. Use it. Go home. You shouldn't be here at all. I got shift covered tonight._

_C._

Grissom checked the clock on the wall. 6.25 pm. Catherine would most probably be catching some well-deserved sleep before shift. Perfect time to call. He picked up his desk phone and dialled her house number, grateful when the machine finally picked up.

"Catherine. It's me. Take the night off. You need it. I'll oversee shift tonight."

He was about to end the call when Catherine's ragged voice came on the line. "Gil? Gil? Don't hang up."

Grissom let out a long sigh and then reluctantly brought the receiver back up to his ear. "Listen Catherine, don't argue with me. You haven't had a night off in a week and you worked eighteen hours plus last shift. The guys can go out in the field while I cover the lab." When he heard Catherine's intake of breath as she was about to protest, he quickly added, "I promise I'll stay at the lab. I need – I'd like to go over Sara's case file anyway."

"Gil…I don't know. I- You sure?"

Grissom glanced at the clock impatiently. Time was ticking away. "Yeah."

"No," Catherine was now saying and Grissom inwardly cursed. "I can't let you do that."

"Catherine, this is not open for negotiation," he said far too quickly and curtly to sound inconspicuous. He paused, checking himself and then taking a calming breath he added more breezily, "I appreciate your concern but I'll be fine. Did you copy the file for me?"

"Yeah." She paused uncertainly, debating with herself the wisdom of her decision. Knowing he would find a way to get to the file anyway, she said, "It's in the top drawer in my desk. The keys are in Stevie's terrarium."

Grissom quirked his brow as he turned round and peered into the terrarium. "Nice touch," he exclaimed into the phone with apparent bewilderment.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands. Remember officially, you are strictly hands off. I'm actually surprised you would choose to be at the lab and not be with Sara at the hospital." She drew in a breath, quickly changing the subject. "Ecklie's bound to come knocking at your door at some point so-"

"I'll handle Ecklie. Thanks for doing this, Catherine. I appreciate it."

"Well, you got me covered enough times. I figured it was time I repaid the favour." Catherine paused, waiting for Grissom to respond. When he didn't she asked, "Are you at CSI? You found my note? I got the lock-"

"Yeah, thank you." He peeled the tape off the key with his free hand and slid it into his jeans pocket. "I meant to ask. Did you find anything more when you processed the house?"

"No. They left no prints. Only DNA. It's like they know they're not in the system. All we got's been logged but no results had come through by the time I left for home. Gil, listen, I'd rather-"

Knowing what Catherine was going to say, he cut in, "Have you already…" he swallowed the knot in his throat, "…released the scene?"

"Yeah. I booked the clean-up crew for Tuesday morning. I'm sorry, that's the earliest they could come. I-"

"Don't worry about it," Grissom cut in abruptly.

Catherine sighed. "Well, I'll go and see Sara in a bit and when they kick me out…I'll be in all night. So if you need me as back-up-"

"I'll call. Thank you, Catherine."

He was about to disconnect when Catherine called, "Gil?"

He sighed and closed his eyes wearily. "Yeah," he replied managing to sound surprisingly calm and detached considering his patience was beginning to wear thin.

"You take care of yourself and call if you need me."

"I will. Good night."

With that he ended the call. With no more time to waste, he took the lid off the terrarium, lifted the keys out and quickly headed to Catherine's office to retrieve Sara's case file.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Oh, now…all he needs is a name…and for Sara to wake up, for real and then the story's over... ;-)

Thank you for reading and don't forget to review, please. Your guys are great and make writing this a joy.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Nick uttered the most perfect line in this chapter but I had to get rid of it – shame really as _asshole_ doesn't quite have the same ring to it – but I'm told there aren't any _tossers_ in the States. That's weird because there are plenty of them in the UK. How is this relevant I hear you ask? It's not. It's just puzzling how some words travel and others don't. It makes it harder for us who aren't American or even English to write.

Oh, and no need for hankies for this chapter. It's just...angsty, I guess. Can you think of a better word?

Anyway, enjoy…and keep your reviews coming please. They make me type so much faster and make it all _so_ worthwhile...

* * *

Sara's case file lay unopened on his desk for long minutes. It was thick, bulging at the seams with loose sheets and printouts sticking out the sides; Catherine was being thorough but then again he didn't expect any less from her. He kept looking at the file, throwing fretful glances down toward it, his hands shaking with fearful apprehension every time they moved to open it.

For he understood only too well the dreadful consequences such act would have on his future, on his career. He knew that the series of events most definitely unleashed by his actions, events he would ultimately be powerless to put a stop to, heralded the most terrible doom.

He looked down toward his shaking hands one last time, clenching his fists into tight balls to stop the trembling, and then flicked his gaze to the file. His heart thumping loudly in his chest, he closed his eyes, took one final breath and opened the file at the first page.

The ball was in motion now and there was no stopping it.

He spent the next few hours reading every sheet, every lab result and report, printing, analysing and scrutinising every single crime scene photo. He worked efficiently, on autopilot, without a break. He fetched the box of evidence from the vault and meticulously studied every piece making sure nothing had been overlooked. Through the evidence bag, he brushed his hand over Sara's water bottle, the one he had prepared for her before her run and then tossed it back into the box angrily. He looked over Hank's collar and leash, the dog catcher pole, an image of how the boxer was restrained already forming in his mind.

The lack of photographs documenting Sara as he had found her at the park was a concern but he only needed to close his eyes for an instant to see a very clear, vivid image of her body lying partially hidden in the bushes, bloodied, injured and left for dead. The heartbreak on finding her with her clothes in disarray, the misery on thinking he was too late, the overwhelming relief when he realised she was still breathing and crushing despair as he was told of her medical condition were all still very raw and playing in agonisingly slow motion in his head.

He felt sick, weak and light-headed. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut in an effort to curb the spinning. He tried a few calming breaths – in vain. Nothing but a miracle would make his wretched misery go away. Yet he knew he had to push through his pain and heartache and find his inner strength. He had to find it in him to be strong, stronger than what he was feeling.

"I can't let you down again, Sara," he mumbled to himself desolately.

The images of Sara at the park suddenly morphed with his memories of the townhouse after the break-in, her limp and battered body transported onto their bed, violated. The callous, chilling message on the mirror flashed at him and it was like someone suddenly turned off the light in his mind. The taste of bile in his throat disappeared replaced by an overpowering rage, an all-encompassing consuming hatred that filled him completely, obliterating any other feeling. His eyes snapped open cold and hard and emotionless.

"I won't let you down," he said much more confidently now, his voice unwavering and bitter.

"_You won't." _

He hurriedly cleared his wall, the cold cases and ones-that-got-away board and began meticulously pinning every one of the crime scene photos he had printed taken at the park. When he ran out of space on the board he fetched in portable screens and continued, adding the pictures documenting Sara's physical injuries and then finally the close-ups of the two white male from the CCTV footage at the park. He stood back studying the back of the two men in close detail, committing every feature to memory, his lips pursed into an almost evil, chilling smile.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Sara silently examined every single photograph, hesitant fingers brushing over the top of them until she reached the printouts of the two men. _"CCTV?_" she exclaimed with surprise. _"I didn't know they had security cameras at Desert Breeze."_ She stared at the picture a little longer, tilting her head one way and then the other, her eyes darkened and narrowed. _"It's them," _she said without hesitation._ "I recognise the younger one's clothing."_

"I know."

Next, he set out working on a timeline of the events. He put together extensive notes, including what he knew about the white Ford Thunderbird seen parked in their street the morning of the break-in, and smiled coldly at Brass's oversight; the detective hadn't obviously asked Mrs Harris the right questions. Of course, he mused, under normal circumstances he would have shared his new findings with his friend; they would have been on the same team. Yet, as he had stared incredulously at the sordid,wicked sight that had been their desecrated bedroom another idea, a Machiavellian plan had taken root deep within him.

"Okay, Sara. It's all here laid out in front of us," he said, swivelling on his heels in a full circle to take in the whole room. "All of it; the whole case. And still no physical evidence of a woman. Just my gut feeling so far." He sighed, pausing in thought.

"_Gil, look at the time!"_

He did a double take, glancing at his wall clock. He cursed under his breath, hurriedly tossing the remainder of Sara's file down on his desk and then picked up his coffee cup. "Sara," he said quietly, unlocking his office door, "you stay put; I'll be right back."

* * *

"Where's Catherine?" Nick asked Greg, glancing at his watch. "It's not like her to be late for assignments."

"I got a text from her," Warrick replied entering the break room. He headed for the fridge to put away his packed lunch. "She's not coming in."

Greg and Nick exchanged baffled looks. "Who's covering shift, then?" Greg asked, lifting the freshly-brewed coffee pot at Warrick in offering. The latter smiled his thanks, nodding.

Nick snorted. "Don't tell me she gave you shift and all," he lamented in astonishment, addressing Warrick.

As he poured Warrick's coffee, Greg's gaze flicked quizzically from Nick to Warrick unsure of what to make of Nick's derisory undertone.

"No," Warrick replied quietly to Nick, not taking the bait. Then in response to Greg's original question, he said, "Evidently, Grissom."

"Oh, joy, joy," Nick said under his breath.

"Nick, that's not fair," Greg defended, giving Warrick a cup of coffee. "He's under a lot of stress-"

"Well, so are we! Why can't he just…reach out to us?"

"It's Grissom we're talking about here. The guy's not going to change just because of what's happened," Warrick reasoned.

"Well, not reach out, then," Nick corrected. "Just talk to us. Let us in, you know? He's not the only one who's missing and cares about Sara here. We all do."

"What is it you want to know exactly, Nick?" Grissom asked quietly from the doorway. He looked exhausted, gaunt and pale, his eyes sunken behind the spectacles he had forgotten to take off in his haste to get assignments done so he could get back to Sara. He stood staring blankly at the three of them, his team, depleted as it were, and holding an assignment slip in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.

Nick looked away uncomfortably, folding his arms over his chest.

"Griss," Greg said eagerly motioning toward the cup in his boss's hand, "you want a refill? I just made a fresh pot."

"Thanks, Greg. I think I will," Grissom replied holding out his cup. He glanced down at the slip in his other hand and sighed, wishing he could just turn around, headed back to the sanctity of his office. Then drawing a deep breath and slipping his glasses off his nose, he told them, "Listen, I'm not good at talking about that stuff, you know that." He turned, checking the corridor and then shut the door. "What is it you want me to tell you, Nick? What is it you want to hear? That she's going to be okay? That she's coming back to us?"

Grissom's gaze turned pained and he gave a tentative shrug of the shoulders. "Or do you want to hear what the doctors would have us believe, that her injuries are so severe that if she lives, she'll never ever be what she was, who she was, who we love?" The words died on his lips and he paused for breath. "Or that she might never wake up? I can't tell you any of these things because I...because it hurts too much to even think about what it means, let alone speak the words." He took a series of calming breaths and looked down to the slip in his hand, willing the trembling to stop. He swallowed, briefly smiling his thanks as Greg placed his coffee on the table. "Now, can we carry on with what we're here for?"

Nick was looking away. Warrick nodded despondently and Greg smiled hopefully.

Grissom tried to return Greg's kindness with a small smile of his own. Then he cleared his throat. "Nick and Greg, you got a possible arson in Seven Hills. Sofia's waiting for you. Here are the details," he said holding out the slip to Nick. Nick didn't move and Greg took the slip with a wan smile. "Warrick," he continued, "Doc Robbins's finished the autopsy on Graham Roper – DB from the Blue Moon so you got your work cut out there." Warrick nodded. "Oh, and by the way, I gave Catherine the night off." His cell beeped and Grissom glanced down at his hip, flicking the phone up to check on the sender of the message. He heaved a heavy breath and keeping his gaze to the floor said, "I'll be in my office if you need me. Now, go to work." He took the fresh cup of coffee from the table and left.

"He's in complete denial," Warrick said after a moment.

"He's an asshole!" Nick spat angrily as he slammed both hands on the table. "The man's a cold hearted bastard."

Warrick and Greg flinched at the vehemence of Nick's anger. "You don't mean that, Nick," Greg said. "You're upset; we're all upset."

Warrick was shaking his head disparagingly. "First you blow up at Catherine and now this," he said. "What is wrong with you, man?"

"Leave it," Nick replied through gritted teeth. "It's not important," he spat with a cold smile.

"Nick, come on," Warrick insisted, putting an appeasing hand on his friend's shoulder, which Nick unceremoniously shrugged off. "Now's not the time to bring all this up."

Greg looked on with confusion.

"How can he be here, do his work, hand out assignments, act like everything's normal, like nothing's happened? Like it's any other night?" Nick said his voice progressively rising in anger. "How can he be so composed, so cold and distant? Sara's lying in a hospital bed, dying. We processed his house – their house for crying out loud and…and this is all we get?" he exclaimed, opening his hand in the general direction of where Grissom had gone before dropping it miserably by his side.

"He's putting up a front, Nick, that's obvious," Warrick said quietly.

Nick continued as though Warrick hadn't spoken. "I don't know what I was expecting from him anyway," he mumbled. "Some honesty, maybe? Some understanding and compassion? No, we just sweep it all under the carpet; pretend like it's not happening." He took a shuddering breath, fighting to keep his temper in check. "I thought because it was Sara, he'd be different, you know? But he's keeping true to form; I can't fault him on that." Nick stood up abruptly and kicked his chair out of the way. "I don't even know why I let it bother me so much."

"This is not about what happened to you, Nick," Warrick said in a calming tone.

"Give him a break," Greg snapped impatiently, to both Nick and Warrick's astonishment. "The man's heartbroken, can you not see that? When I went to see Sara at the hospital this afternoon, he was there sleeping, his head writhing on the bed, white as a sheet and sweat and tears running down his face. He was _crying_ in his sleep," he exclaimed disbelievingly. "He was gripping Sara's hand so hard I thought he was going to break it. The man was crying in his sleep!" Greg repeated in astonishment. "Grissom! Mumbling and muttering to himself but really I think he was talking to Sara. It was heartbreaking, like listening to a one-sided conversation."

"He's not coping," Warrick said. "I think that this denial thing's his way of keeping sane. Work's all he's got left."

"He's got us," Greg said.

"Are you hearing yourselves talk?" Nick snarled. "You sound like Sara's already gone."

"Maybe, if you'd gone to see her at the hospital like we have…" Nick glared at Warrick, daring him to continue with his sentence but Warrick trailed off with a sigh and a sad shake of the head.

"I think we need to be here for him rather than the other way round, don't you?" Greg said quietly. Nick felt targeted by the statement and turned to glower at Greg, the pent-up emotion still waiting to burst out of him clearly visible.

Warrick offered Greg a small smile, nodding his head in agreement. "And what he needs us to do right now is our jobs. So guys, I'll see you later." Warrick made brief eye contact with Greg, nodded toward the back of Nick's head, mouthing silently, "You going to be okay?"

Greg glanced at Nick and pursed his face and shoulders uncertainly in reply. Then he took a deep breath and gave Warrick a confident nod of the head in reply.

* * *

"Wendy," Grissom said quickly, waving his cell at her, "I got your text. You got some results for me?"

"Yes, Sir," Wendy smiled. "They're fresh out of the printer." Her smile broadened as she handed Grissom the sheet.

Grissom reached for his glasses, quickly scanned the results and glanced up over the rim, looking hopeful and his brow arched questioningly.

Wendy nodded earnestly, her eyes wide with delight. "I ran the tests twice to make absolutely sure," she assured him. "There's absolutely no doubt. You're a match."

Grissom nodded, reading over the results again, just to verify he hadn't misunderstood them and then finally exhaled the long breath he had been holding, closing his eyes as the relief washed over him. "Thanks Wendy," he said genuinely. He grinned, checking the results again, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Wendy was still smiling fondly as she watched him. "Oh, Wendy," he exclaimed once more looking up from the result sheet, "I could just kiss you right now."

Wendy chuckled in slight embarrassment, smiling shyly, pleased she had finally succeeded to bring her boss a little joy, a little comfort albeit of small consolation in the circumstance.

Then Grissom's expression changed and he looked up hesitantly, a frown on his face. "You…you're working on the evidence from Catherine's break-in on Beach Front Drive?"

"The fluid recovered on the bed?" Wendy asked. Grissom nodded silently. "It's being processed as we speak. But I can already safely say that the semen's dead."

"Dead?"

Wendy nodded. "As in not this morning's fresh. I put it under the scope and found no swimmers in the sample. Tails have gone too. You want to take a look?" Wendy gestured toward the microscope on the workstation.

Grissom moved toward it, removed his glasses and refocused the lens. "So…it was most probably planted at the scene," Grissom said to himself. "Mmm… interesting. That would go some way toward explaining the lack of epithelials or hairs in the bed too." He looked up, remaining quiet for a while, considering what this meant. Then he snapped out of his trance-like thoughts and smiled at Wendy. "Good," he said, preparing to leave. "Catherine's got the night off, so will you let me have the results when they come in?"

Wendy lifted her shoulders hesitantly. "Sure."

He stopped at the door and then turned round hesitantly. "There's something else." He rubbed his hand over his forehead anxiously. "I was wondering…when you get a DNA profile, whether you would…huh…compare it against the DNA recovered at the park."

"Sara's case?" Wendy asked with surprise. "You think both cases are connected?"

Grissom stared at Wendy for a moment and then realised Catherine had obviously _forgotten_ to mention who the townhouse belonged to. He smiled. "Call it a hunch, for now."

"O-kay. I'll get the results to you as soon as I get them."

"Thank you. I'll be in my office." He once again glanced down at the results sheet he was still clutching in his hand, smiling to himself and sighing in relief, and then made to leave. Thinking better of it, he turned round and without a moment's hesitation or eye contact he hurriedly bussed Wendy on the cheek before turning on his heels and leaving without another word.

* * *

Tbc.


	19. Chapter 19

The handle turned but the door to Grissom's office was locked from the inside and didn't budge. Wendy frowned, looking around her uncertainly. Then she leaned against the door, listening in and heard Grissom's muffled voice. Most probably on the phone, she thought. She waited until the room became silent and knocked again, louder this time. "Grissom? It's me Wendy. I got the results you wanted."

"Just a second," came the hurried reply.

A minute or so later, Grissom opened the door and stepped into the corridor, shutting the door and locking it quickly before Wendy had time to glimpse inside. She looked mildly taken aback by her boss's recurring odd behaviour. "Is…everything okay?" she asked.

"Sure," Grissom said breezily. "Shall we find somewhere quieter than the corridor to discuss the results?" He took off striding down the lab, Wendy following quickly on his heels, looking through the various rooms until he came to a stop outside DNA. "It seems we've come round full circle," he quipped with a smile as he entered.

Wendy eyed him suspiciously but remained silent.

"So?" he prompted. "The results?"

"Ah, yes. Sorry." She smiled uneasily while she gathered her thoughts. "Only one donor for the fluid on the sheets," she began, her voice rising in excitement. "It came back XY."

"Male," Grissom said, clearly disappointed. "No female contributor?"

Grissom's reaction - or rather lack of - dampened Wendy's enthusiasm. "No. Nothing," she replied. "Why? Were you expecting different results?"

Grissom shook his head brusquely. "No, no. I'm sorry, Wendy. I don't know what I was expecting." He managed an encouraging smile. "What were you saying?"

Startled, Wendy took a moment to recompose. "Hum…yes," she beamed a grin at him, "I ran the DNA through CODIS and got a hit!"

Grissom's eyes lit up in utter bewilderment. "You did?"

Wendy nodded cheerfully. "Huh – huh. He did eight months of a one year sentence in Nevada State Prison in Carson City for serious misdemeanour. He came out early December of last year," Wendy moved to her computer, tapped a few keys and a mug shot of a male youth appeared. "Martin Wallis. Twenty five," she read from the screen. "Last known address is in Reno, Nevada."

Grissom frowned. "Reno?" he repeated musingly. "That's good work Wendy. Can I get a printout?"

"Sure." She passed him a copy of Martin Wallis rap sheet she had already printed. Grissom studied the photograph of the suspect carefully but couldn't match the poor quality mug shot to the back of either heads from the park's CCTV printout.

"Can you pull up his driver's details from the DMV?"

Wendy shrugged and changed databases with a few strokes of the keyboard. Martin Wallis's driver's licence appeared. "It's got a different address than on the rap sheet," Wendy noted. "It's dated, January 16th 06. Four months ago. 154 Santa Clarita Avenue, here in Vegas."

Grissom leaned over to check for himself. "I've never heard of it." He glanced at the photograph. It was a better shot than the previous one but still inconclusive. "Do we know what he drives?"

Wendy checked. "Nothing's showing up on the system," she replied. "Why?"

"I was just being curious," Grissom answered evasively. He looked up and stared blankly in front of him, that far away look on his face. "Okay. Good work, Wendy," he said at last as he made to leave.

"Wait," the tech exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement. "I got more! I ran Wallis's sample against the DNA recovered at the park as per your instructions-"

"And it's a match?" Grissom could not hide the gleeful astonishment from his voice.

"Yes and no," Wendy replied, swaying her head from side to side in ambivalence. But her smile stayed on. "It matches the DNA from a couple of cigarette butts Nick found near the bench."

Grissom narrowed his eyes in interest but Wendy took that as criticism as though his frown suggested that the evidence from the park should have all been processed by now. "I had such a backlog," she defended, pausing with an apologetic rise of her shoulders.

Grissom nodded, lifting a placating hand, waving her apology aside.

"I've got better news still," she went on brightly. "Martin Wallis's DNA has seven out of thirteen common alleles with the DNA lifted from under Sara's nails."

Grissom could feel the sudden rush of adrenaline though his veins. "Blood relatives?"

Wendy nodded. "Most probably siblings but I can't be one hundred percent certain." Grissom opened his mouth to ask the next obvious question but Wendy silenced him with a shake of the head. "I reached a dead end there," she explained. "No mention of any relatives in the system and both parents are deceased."

"Brothers," Grissom mused with a soft smile. He glanced at the DNA tech, pursing his lips in thought. "This is where I come in, Wendy," he added with a wink. "This is what I do."

"It seems your hunch came through after all," she replied with a smile.

"It would appear so." Movement through the plate glass caught Grissom's eye. He looked up to see Hodges waving him across, the trace tech's face creased into an inanely happy smile on seeing he had finally gotten Grissom's attention. The night shift supervisor sighed, glancing at Wendy who was also looking through the plate glass at Hodges. "You think he wants me or you?" he asked the DNA tech warily.

Wendy giggled at Grissom's exasperated tone. "There's only one way to know," she said. She pointed toward her chest and chuckled as Hodges shook his head in the negative, pointing toward Grissom instead and shrugging his shoulders at Wendy in apology.

"Okay," Grissom sighed, picking up the printout of Martin Wallis's details. "I guess I'd better go see what he wants." He moved toward the door. "Thanks, Wendy. You've done fantastic work. I'll let PD know."

"Grissom, can I have a quick word with you?" said the Trace tech, coming to meet Grissom just outside Wendy's lab.

"Make it quick, Hodges," Grissom replied curtly, winking at Wendy as he followed Hodges out. "I'm busy."

Hodges shared a look with Wendy through the glass, nodding at Grissom. "Oh. Okay." He motioned for his boss to enter his trace lab first and then shut the door, fidgeting with a manila folder in his hands. He took a few hesitant steps towards his chair and sat down on it before springing back up to his feet as though he had sat on a prickly pear.

"So?" Grissom probed impatiently. "I haven't got all night."

"Ah. Yes." Hodges opened the folder and took out a result sheet. "I ran a sample of the lipstick used to inscribe the message on you…the mirror at your….the scene on Beach Front Drive through the GCMS…"

Grissom looked up abruptly, suddenly interested in Hodges's ramblings. "And?" he cut in.

Hodges smiled. "I was able to break down the composition and narrow it down to one brand and one colour. Manhunt by NARS."

"A common brand found in most cosmetic shops. Hardly ground-breaking, Hodges," Grissom chided impatiently.

"Well, huh, that's not all," the Trace tech continued earnestly. "The GCMS also isolated traces of nicotine in the sample."

"Tobacco? Our lipstick wearer smokes?" Grissom's impatient frown morphed into a wide grin. "Sara was right."

Hodges frowned in bewilderment but then stammered "It would appear so," in reply. Then he continued hesitantly, watching Grissom closely, "I narrowed it down to a particular brand of ci-"

"Cut to the chase, Hodges, please," Grissom snapped exasperatedly.

"Marlboro," he breathed out with a wide grin, undeterred by Grissom's odd behaviour.

Grissom pondered Hodges' findings silently and then muttered to himself almost inaudibly. "Two young white males – Martin Wallis and his brother, it would appear – attack Sara but a woman's behind the crime. We know what lipstick she wears and what she smokes but are still no nearer to an ID. We know what they drive and where to find Wallis."

"_A woman with a grudge against us, and let's not forget sexual deviances, who used me to get to you," _Sara's words echoed in his mind.

"Crazy is as crazy does," Hodges grumbled under his breath as he eyed Grissom warily.

Hodges' comment startled Grissom out of his trance and he looked up sharply. "What did you say?" he said.

"Huh, nothing," Hodges back-pedalled quickly.

"No, no. That phrase you just said, where did you hear it?"

"It's funny you should ask, actually," Hodges replied somewhat uneasily. "I've only ever heard it said once. I took me a long time to figure out what she meant by it but…"

"Sara?"

Hodges flinched in surprise but then nodded with a smile before looking down to his hands, hesitating to speak. He nervously tapped the tips of his fingers together, swaying from foot to foot and asked, "H-how…hum, how is she?"

Grissom shook his head and closed his eyes, swallowing. He took a breath, reopening his eyes and made eye contact with Hodges, saying, "She's hanging in there, David." He smiled stiffly, repeating, "Hanging in there." He clumsily clasped his hand over the tech's shoulder and left.

* * *

"Should you even be here?" asked Brass.

Grissom looked up from the dental mould he was examining to see Brass standing in the layout room doorway. "Catherine needed a night off," he simply said. He paused, eyeing his friend suspiciously and then gave him a slight snigger in realisation. "But you knew that already."

Brass lifted his shoulder in a mild shrug. "I may have had insider info."

Grissom returned his attention to the dental mould from the Blue Moon case he was helping Warrick with and sealed it into an evidence bag. "She asked you to check up on me?" he asked, unable to disguise the slightly vexed astonishment from his voice as he carried on with his work.

Brass hesitated, debating whether he should be open about his motives or not. "She's worried about you and so am I for that matter."

Grissom composed a calm front and offered a small yet convincing smile, checking the wall clock from the corner of his eye. It read 5.00 am. "I'm okay."

"Sure," Brass smiled. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" He lifted the take-out bag in his hand. "I come bearing gifts."

"Scotch in a take-out bag? Very cloak and dagger, even for you."

"Chinese," the detective apologised with a shrug, motioning with his head toward the wall clock. "From the deli on the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Cactus Avenue. I hear the food's rather good."

Grissom couldn't help the genuine smile forming on his lips. "You know full well it is," he replied returning his attention to signing his name of the evidence tag.

"And there was I thinking my clandestine encounters with Sara were secret." Brass chuckled to himself quietly before musing, "She never said anything about the two of you."

Grissom got up from the light table, placing the evidence bag into a box. He put the lid over the box very slowly and then rested his hands palms down on it, pausing for an instant. Feeling the detective's gaze on his every move, he closed his eyes with a sigh. "Listen, Jim, I appreciate what you're doing but I got work to do. Don't you have criminals to catch?"

"It's a quiet night."

"So it seems," Grissom said in a sigh.

Brass drew out a long breath. "When I was looking for you earlier, I checked your office and found it locked. Everything's all right?"

"Sure," Grissom replied with a disbelieving shake of the head. "Why shouldn't it be?" The sarcasm dripped from his every word.

"Gil…that's not what I meant."

"I know." He paused, knowing that he needed to keep himself in check. "I'm sorry."

"Listen, Gil, I'm hungry and it's getting cold so maybe we could…"

Grissom nodded. "Okay, you win. I'm done here, anyway. Let me log this back in and then I'll eat with you."

"Okay," Brass smiled, "I'll be waiting outside your office."

Grissom froze. "You know what? Stevie's escaped. Hence the locked office – to keep him contained – and-"

"Stevie?" Brass inquired with a puzzled frown.

"My tarantula? I must have left the lid off his terrarium earlier. Anyway, it's best if we go to the break room. Unless of course, you'd rather he shared our meal?"

"No, no. The break room's fine."

"Good. I'll catch you there in five."

When Grissom got to the break room Brass was already seated and eating.

The detective lifted his plastic fork in the air, saying with his mouth full, "Sorry. I got a head start."

Grissom nodded and sat down on the chair across from his friend. He opened the take-out bag and took out the second box and a pair of chopsticks, which he meticulously placed in front of him. He stared at the food for a moment, feeling nauseous.

Brass eyed Grissom with interest, finished chewing and said, "I got you sweet and sour pork, your favourite, isn't it?"

Grissom couldn't fault Brass for want of trying. He nodded his head, slowly opening the box. "It does smell very nice," he conceded grudgingly with a sigh as he adroitly picked up the chopsticks.

Brass smiled and forked more food into his mouth greedily. "Tuck in," he told Grissom, his mouth full. "It's getting cold."

Grissom glanced at the box and then back at Brass. The quicker they ate, the quicker the detective would be on his way. He tentatively brought food to his mouth, remarking, "Sara didn't manage to teach you the art of eating with chopsticks, did she?"

"Not through lack of trying," the detective laughed. "I guess you don't teach dogs our age new tricks." Grissom smiled musingly, nodding. Brass smiled again, finished chewing hurriedly and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He watched his friend, waiting for him to finish his mouthful before asking, "Any more leads on Sara's case?"

Grissom paused and slowly wiped the corners of his mouth. He looked up to meet his friend in the eye, replying without hesitation, "Nothing."

Brass registered a look of surprise but bit his tongue waiting for Grissom to elaborate.

"All the evidence from the park's been processed and the printout from the CCTV doesn't give us a clear shot of our potential suspects."

"What about from the townhouse?" Brass asked, as he stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork.

"Nothing conclusive as yet," the CSI replied before casually pulling the ring pull of a soda can and taking a long sip, giving himself time to think about his next words. "The only evidence we have of a female presence, apart from the lipstick, which in itself doesn't mean anything," Grissom said, "is the hand that wrote the message. Ronnie," he went on, to which Brass arched his brow questioningly, "Litra, of QD?"

"QD?" Brass repeated uncertainly.

"Questionable documents," Grissom clarified impatiently. "Anyway, he agrees the handwriting is female. Most probably educated and definitely right-handed."

Brass pursed his face and sighed. "That's not much to go on," he said bringing another forkful of Chow Mein to his lips. "That's strange, though, I'd have thought the way the bed was, you'd have recovered a bunch of hairs or some epi-the-lials, you know?" Brass flashed Grissom a grin coupled with a waggle of his eyebrows showing off that he did remember a few things from his time at CSI.

Grissom shrugged casually, giving nothing away. "The scene was most probably staged. Wendy said the semen was old. I think it was planted there and probably doesn't belong to either of our perps."

Brass looked sceptical but didn't pursue the matter, lapsing into a meditative silence as he finished eating. "Did you catch the press conference earlier today?"

"No. What press conference?"

"Yesterday's lunchtime news? Ecklie and McKeen appealed for witnesses for the attack on Sara. Nothing's come of it so far."

Grissom froze mid-movement and stared at Brass with shock. He slowly put the chopsticks down, pushing his food aside. "Did they mention Sara was still alive?" he asked with growing fear.

Brass watched his friend with concern. "I don't know but I guess they would have mentioned something about her condition. Why wouldn't they?"

"Did they say which hospital she was taken to?"

"I shouldn't think so. What's troubling you, Gil? A televised appeal's standard procedure in cases like these."

Grissom got to his feet barely containing his anger. "I'm working on a theory that maybe Sara's attackers don't know she's still alive and now Ecklie and the under-sheriff have gone and signed her death warrant."

Brass shook his head. "Come on, Gil. Aren't you overreacting? Isn't that a slight exaggeration?"

"If they know she's alive and at desert Palm, god knows what they could do to her there."

Brass looked a mixture of confusion and dismay at his friend's behaviour. "What do you mean?"

Grissom didn't reply. He picked up the break room wall phone and dialled Ecklie's extension number. The phone rang and rang until the machine kicked in. "He's not in," he snapped as he slammed the phone down.

"What did you expect? It's the middle of the night," Brass replied, bewildered. He paused, getting up. "Gil, listen, you need to calm down. I got round the clock protection on her. My men won't let anybody in the room who's not been previously cleared with hospital management."

Grissom seemed somewhat placated by that and he let out a short sigh. "You're right. I'm sorry." He rubbed his hands over his eyes. "I'm sorry." He checked the time. "Listen Jim, I need to get back to work. I got a lot to do before I can clock off and head back to the hospital."

Brass nodded, rising to his feet. He gathered the food trash and put it in the wastebasket. "What time are they…you know…doing the tests on Sara?"

"I'm not sure." Grissom snorted in disdain. "And I have a feeling they won't be waiting for me to get started."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Don't forget to leave me a comment, I'd appreciate it. :-)


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you for reading and taking the time to review. Your support means a lot to me and instead of gradually losing readers as I feared, I'm gaining some. I hope you keep enjoying the story. Let me know.

The first section of dialogue is gratefully borrowed from episode 6.12, _Daddy's Little Girl_ and sadly isn't mine. I always feel like Grissom acts like a jerk to Nick in that scene and I can't help feeling sorry for the bloke. And maybe Nick's harbouring a little resentment as a result which would explain his present attitude. So the chapter begins directly with a flashback.

Oh, and no. I will not make poor Nicky my character death…so stop picking on him RIGHT NOW.

_

* * *

_

The door to Grissom's office was open and Nick stepped right in without knocking. "Hey, Grissom ... You want to talk to me?

"_Yeah, sit down."_

_Nick did, feigning a casualness he wasn't feeling. _

"_I heard that Kelly Gordon may be a suspect in your murder case," said Grissom._

"_Yeah." _

"_Is that a problem?"_

"_No. No, it's not a problem," Nick replied maintaining a relaxed appearance. Grissom stared blankly back. "And by the way, I heard the tape. I did a voice comparison. Sylvia Mullins is the other voice on that tape. She's Walter Gordon's ex-business manager, so ... I'm pretty sure she had something to do with my kidnapping."_

"_But now she's dead."_

_Nick was beginning to look uncomfortable. "Yeah."_

"_So ... it's over."_

_Nick nodded, looking more and more discomfited. "Yep," he said in a small voice._

"_Good."_

"_Good," Nick repeated before snorting in disbelief and standing up a little uncertainly, looking very disappointed. He cast one last glance at his boss, who had already returned his attention to his work, and after a forlorn shake of his head left._

_*********_

_Sara froze on entering the locker room. Nick was alone, sitting on the bench, his elbows resting on his thighs, head in his hands. He was slightly rocking back and forth. "Nick, you okay?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice._

"_Sure. Why shouldn't I be?"_

_Sara touched him on the arm. "I bumped into Sofia. She told me about what happened with Kelly Gordon. You want to talk about it?"_

_Nick shrugged._

_Sara opened her locker and paused, hesitating. She turned to look at Nick. "Let's go for a coffee. Now. You and me. Or something stronger?"_

_Nick looked up and shook his head. "Thanks but I'll pass. Some other time maybe. I just want to go home. Take a shower. Wash the…"_

"_Earth off you?" Sara prompted quietly as she sat down next to him on the bench. _

_Nick turned his head and gave Sara an empty smile. "It doesn't get any easier with time."_

"_I know." Sara watched him for a while and then smiled. "Come on, one coffee. My shout." She gave his leg a warm squeeze and he offered her a small hesitant shrug back. "Okaaay," she added with a cheeky smile, "you've twisted my arm. A coffee and a treat."_

_Fifteen minutes later, Sara had commandeered a booth at their favourite haunt and watched as the waitress set down two danishes and proceeded to fill two empty cups with lukewarm coffee. Nick joined her soon after, smiling as he slid on the bench across from her. "Danishes?" he asked with mock disgust. "These are both for you, right?" _

_Sara giggled. Nick turned toward the counter and motioned to the waitress for a chef's special. Sara broke off a morsel of the pastry which she began to eat very slowly. _

_As expected, the silence soon unnerved Nick and he began to offload. "I felt sorry for her," he said, nervously picking the second danish apart with his fingers. "Alone, in jail, convicted of a crime she didn't commit. I even went to visit her a few times." _

_Sara nodded silently and took a small sip of her drink. She already knew all that, of course but didn't say anything. _

"_She seemed…genuine," he went on._

"_And now she's dead."_

"_Yeah." _

"_And you feel like you should have foreseen what she was going to do? Prevented her suicide, maybe?"_

_Nick shrugged his answer. _

"_Because the way I see it, it's not your fault. You were both victims of Sylvia Mullins's plotting. If anything, you should be angry at her."_

_Nick seemed to notice the pastry he had destroyed for the first time and sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "I didn't know her, did I? And besides Kelly's not the one I'm mad at." Sara looked confused. "I understand why she did what she did. To herself and Mullins. I'm not condoning it but I can understand it. No, I…I'm pissed at Grissom."_

_Sara registered a look of surprise and put her coffee down on the table. "Grissom? Why?"_

_Nick smiled uncomfortably. "You know what? I shouldn't have said anything. It's not important. It's done. Over with. Case closed."_

"_Well, obviously not, Nick, or you wouldn't be this upset."_

"_I'm not upset. I'm pissed. There's a difference."_

_Sara's lips twitched into a smile. "You're right. My bad."_

_Nick let out a long breath. "New evidence came up and he didn't tell me about it." _

_Sara's forehead creased. "Regarding your..." she swallowed, "kidnapping?" _

_Nick gave her a small nod of the head. "When I confronted him with it, he offered me no explanation, no apologies. Nothing. He just did what he generally does."_

_Sara pursed her face into a shrug. "Knowing Grissom, he probably felt it was better for you to try to move on without bringing it all back up, you know?"_

_Nick snorted. "Like he was looking out for me? Trying to protect me?" he asked incredulously. He shook his head, smiling at Sara. "Nah. You give him more credit than he deserves." _

_Sara hesitated, mindful to choose her words carefully. "I think," she shrugged uncertainly, "that you're right. Grissom doesn't _show_ his feelings like you and me. He _is_ emotionally withdrawn and socially awkward and he doesn't know how to deal with personal stuff." She paused, holding Nick's gaze. "But, Nick, it doesn't mean that he doesn't care. He just doesn't show it. I know because I was there, that he did everything, absolutely everything possible to find and rescue you. He risked his own life for you." _

_Nick lifted his hand off the table in protest but Sara placed hers on top, silencing him. "I know. I know you're not being ungrateful but you got to understand that Grissom maybe didn't tell you about…this new evidence because… he thought that dredging it all up when you're only just getting back on your feet would… set you back."_

_Nick didn't comment or reply, he just averted his gaze, keeping it fixed to his coffee cup. The waitress came, bringing his breakfast. He looked at it, took a breath and pushed the plate away._

_Sara finished the last of her danish and smiled, changing the subject. "I tell you what. At six tonight, there'll be a knock on your door. That'll be me," she added with a wink and a wide smile when he looked up. "I'll be in my running gear and so will you. I'll drive us out to Royal Links Golf Club where the grass is green and soft."_

_Nick shook his head in amusement. "And most probably fake." He chuckled softly. "Driving to get there kind of defeats the point of going running, don't you think?"_

"_Perhaps. But you haven't had the full Prius experience yet. So how does that sound?"_

"_Like maybe we should take my truck if we want to get there and back before shift." _

_Sara stifled her giggles. "Deal. You got yourself a date."_

_Nick laughed and then sighed. "Thank you," he said reaching out to take her hand in his. Sara looked surprised by his words. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me – again. For picking me up." He squeezed her hand warmly. "You're a good friend." _

_Sara squeezed his hand back fondly and beamed a cheeky grin at him as she nodded her agreement. "I am, aren't I?"_

_They both laughed. "Anyway, enough talking about me," Nick went on. "How are you? It's been a while since we…did this. I have to say you've been looking much happier recently."_

_Sara smiled and pushed his plate back toward him. "I'm good. I'm in a good place in my life at the moment actually."_

"Nick, can you stop what you're doing for a minute, please?" Grissom said from the garage doorway. "I need to talk to you."

Nick startled, then sighed, pausing in his movement. He put down the charred remains of a stuffed toy on top of the other debris laid out in front of him and warily turned his head toward Grissom. He knew he had it coming. He had behaved like a spoiled brat. "Listen, Griss, I know what you're going to say and I'm sorry about my attitude before. I was out of order."

Grissom shook his head, lifting his hand. "No, Nick. You have a right to your feelings. I'm sorry."

Both men fell into an awkward silence, watching each other, waiting for the other one to speak. Eventually, Grissom raised his shoulders into a shrug. "I never thought of how the attack on Sara would affect you – all of you – but you in particular. I should have realised especially after…your kidnapping and then what happened with Kelly Gordon… that it would hit you hard, maybe hardest and …" Grissom shrugged and lapsed into an uneasy silence, unable to find the words to articulate his thoughts.

"You know," Nick said after a moment, "when I was lying in that…coffin, I never thought you wouldn't find me. I never once thought that – even at the end…when I wasn't strong enough." Grissom pulled a pained face and moved closer to Nick. "Sara's attack is different," Nick went on. "It feels like there's nothing we can do for her. Like we're powerless to help her."

"We can catch who did this to her."

"Yeah, but it's never going to be the same again. We can never _save_ her. It's not up to us to…follow the evidence, find and rescue her."

"She doesn't need to be rescued, Nick. And she's not gone."

Nick nodded and offered Grissom a small smile. "I know."

"Have you been to see her?"

Nick looked down shaking his head, then glanced up with a sad, apologetic shrug.

"I'm on my way to the hospital now," added Grissom. "They've scheduled another set of scans and tests for this morning. You should go and see her later. She'd like that."

The Texan smiled somewhat wistfully. "I'd like that too." His smile faded. "I miss her. She's helped me work through so much stuff, she…"

"I know."

Nick looked surprised but then nodded, realising that Sara had probably confided in Grissom.

Reading his mind, Grissom said, "She never betrayed any confidence, Nick. You know Sara would never do that. Not even to me. She just mentioned when you went for drinks and running together." He gave an empty laugh. "She reprimanded me more than once for not handling the Kelly Gordon…situation better. She was right obviously."

"It wouldn't have made a difference."

"I know." Grissom paused. "It's hard to get pass the rage and resentment, isn't it?"

Nick thought about his boss's words and then slowly nodded his agreement. "I just can't seem to be able to let it go."

Grissom nodded with a small smile. Nick watched his boss and noticed for the first time the unguarded misery in the older man's eyes and something else too. An emotion he recognised all too well because he stared at it every time he looked at himself in the mirror – the same dark look, the deep-seated anger they had only just talked about.

"Anyway, I'd better go," Grissom was now saying, jarring Nick out of his thoughts. "Go see her. Talk to her. That's what I do," he added with a small shrug before turning on his heels.

* * *

He was walking quickly across the parking lot to his car when he heard Ecklie call him. He stopped with a weary sigh and turned, smiling nonchalantly. "Conrad, I left that paperwork for the sheriff and my budget requirements for the new financial year on your desk. I also did the evaluations you wanted."

Ecklie pursed his face appreciatively. "Well, thank you, Gil. Quiet night, huh?"

Grissom shrugged. "Any crime…is one crime too many, Conrad."

Ecklie nodded with a frown. "Any news on Sara?"

"She's still the same. They have more tests scheduled for this morning." Grissom looked at the car key in his hand. "I should get going actually."

"Her family's with her?"

Grissom paused. "Not yet. As far as I understand Sara and her mother aren't close. I'm still in the process of tracking her down."

"Okay. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Thank you. I appreciate what you've already done so far, with regards to letting Catherine and the guys work the case and arranging the press conference. Brass mentioned nothing came of it?"

Ecklie's glance flicked to a passing car in the street as he replied, "Not so far."

The look of pure unrestrained hatred Grissom cast his colleague at that moment went unnoticed. When Ecklie looked at Grissom again, the latter smiled coolly, glancing at his watch. "Anyway, I ought to get going. I got somewhere to be. I might catch you later." He turned his back on the lab director before getting to his car feeling extremely satisfied with his little performance.

* * *

"_Gil, stop. Where are we going? What are we doing here?"_

Grissom ignored the voice in his head as he slowly walked up the alleyway, leaving the hustle and bustle of Fremont Street behind. It might have been night-time, for the narrow alley was dimly-lit, flanked by tall brick buildings on both sides, blocking any daylight. He looked back making sure he wasn't being followed and then found a quiet, covert spot in the shadows where he could lay in waiting.

"_Gil, will you answer me please? What are we doing here?"_

Grissom pushed the sunglasses up his nose and pulled his coat collar up as far as it would go, partially covering his face. He slipped his hands in his pocket restlessly clenching and unclenching his fists. He would have preferred to have headed to the hospital straightaway but knew that his window of opportunity was tight. Either he caught Marcus Jones now or not at all.

"_Gil, you're scaring me. Come on, let's go!"_

Movement walking down the alley toward him startled him, catching him off guard and he shrank into his coat and out of sight while he adjusted to the bad light and distance. He waited until the man had walked past him to straighten up, slightly pushing off the wall to get noticed.

"Marcus? Marcus Jones?"

The man jumped, turning around swiftly. He looked back in puzzlement and took a few steps back, wondering how this haggard-looking old man could have crept up to him unnoticed. "Who's asking?" he replied a little edgily as he brought his hand to his chest directly under his jacket. He looked around uncertainly, ready to bolt or worse, if necessary.

"Me." Grissom stayed hidden in the darkness but stared Marcus Jones down unwaveringly. He removed his hands from his pockets and lifted them up and wide in one slow movement.

Jones stared back, his eyes narrowed to get a clearer view and then he nodded his head, seemingly satisfied that Grissom meant business and not trouble. Keeping his hand close to the gun bulging under his jacket, he took a few swaggering steps toward Grissom.

"Stay where you are," the latter said.

The younger man gave an easy shrug and stopped. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a gun."

"_A gun? What do you need a gun for, Gil?"_

Grissom blinked, shaking his head briskly, silencing the voice in his head.

Marcus Jones watched Grissom in interest, his face creased into a frown and then his brow lifted in hazy recollection. "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

"I don't think so."

Jones shrugged in indifference and then cast his glance beyond Grissom down the darkened alley, checking the main street ahead. "What kind of gun is it you _need_?"

"One that can't be tracked back to you or me. A hand gun. Don't care about the make or model. Preferably small - medium calibre…and bullets."

Jones pursed his face in interest. "I can do that. A thousand greenbacks and it's yours."

Grissom gave a single nod of the head in reply.

"Meet me here tomorrow. Same time."

"Tomorrow? No. I need it sooner than that. Today."

Jones eyed Grissom suspiciously. "It's going to cost you more."

"Don't care about the money."

Jones curled his lips into a small smile. "Alright. Two G."

Grissom nodded his agreement.

Jones reached into his coat pocket and Grissom flinched back in alarm. He watched warily as Jones pulled his cell out, checking the time, and released a shaky breath. "Okay. Say…four pm," Jones said. "But not here. The underpass under the I-15 at the McCarran exit." He jerked his head quizzically at Grissom. "You know it?"

Grissom shook his head. "We do this my way or not at all." He went on to explain briefly where and how they would make the exchange.

Jones smiled edgily and then nodded. Remaining in the shadows, Grissom pulled Sara's old black woolly hat further down over his head, shrank himself into his coat and turned his back, headed off down the alley toward the main street.

"_Grissom! What are you doing? Grissom, listen to me. I don't like this. You already got a gun you don't use. What do you need another one for?"_

"You don't need to know," Grissom snapped back shortly.

"_Please, don't do this, I beg you."_

"Sara, leave me be. I know what I'm doing."

The voice stopped as he reached Fremont Street and Grissom breathed a small sigh of relief. He was walking quickly, weaving in and out of the small crowds of people headed back to his car when Sara murmured with fear, _"Gil, they're here. They're here. They're taking me. Please hurry."_

* * *

Tbc.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Find a hanky …or maybe a whole box of tissues…maybe. Now, take a big breath…here we go…the moment you've all been waiting for – or not.

Thank you again for reading and coming this far with me. I appreciate your support. Please, review if only to scream and shout at me, :-) and remember this is far from being over.

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The drive over to the hospital did nothing to assuage his fears. Neither did Sara's abrupt silence. The whole city, at a standstill so early in the morning, appeared to be conspiring against him. There was a crash on the I-15, which had shut it down completely in both directions and traffic was being diverted through the centre making his progress frustratingly slow. By the time he got to the hospital and found a parking spot he was terribly late, agitated and terrified of what lay ahead.

Sara's words echoed in his mind over and over again. _They're here. They're taking me. _He knew he was late but was he _too_ late?

He wondered briefly whether he should head straight to radiology but decided against it. Irrational fear fuelling his movement, he forsook the elevator for the stairs and ran all the way up to the ICU on the third floor, stopping only to catch his breath. Breathing hard, he reached Sara's hospital room and stopped for only a second in front of Metcalf, who eyed him rather warily, before barging his way into the room.

All at once, three startled faces turned toward him, their hushed voices ceasing talking immediately. They were gathered close around Sara's bed and by the looks of it had been engaged in some kind of heated debate.

Panting, Grissom remained rooted to the spot with his hand on the handle. Suddenly too shy to go in, he scanned the faces before him apprehensively.

"Mr Grissom," said Dr Flanders with a small smile. "We were hoping you were on your way. We tried your cell and eventually left a message for you at work."

Grissom nodded, glancing warily toward the bed. He walked straight past the doctor to Sara's side. He smiled lovingly, tenderly brushing his gaze over her face as the overwhelming relief at not being too late filled his heart to almost bursting point. The wave of love he felt for her at that moment was so overpowering of his senses that he weakened at the knees. "I'm here my darling," he told her with his eyes. "I'm sorry I scared you by not getting here sooner."

He gently lifted her hand off the bed and brought it up to his face. He closed his eyes, breathing her in and caressed his lips over her fingers and then her hand over his face conveying all the love and devotion he felt for her through the simple touch. After a short while, he reopened his eyes, a frown on his face as he remembered he wasn't alone in the room with Sara. He let out a weary sigh and keeping a hold of Sara's hand, turned his head, saying, "I came as soon as I could. I'm glad I'm not too late." Addressing Dr Flanders he asked, "When is her brain scan scheduled for?"

The doctor exhaled slowly. "I'm very sorry, Mr Grissom. But you _are_ too late. Sara's already been for her head CT. An earlier slot presented itself and… we took it."

A chill descended upon Grissom. "I'm too late?" he whispered, returning his gaze to Sara. He inclined his head to the side, pinching his lips in anguish as his eyes filled with tears, his heart visibly breaking at the thought.

"We were just in the process of discussing the results when you came in," Dr Flanders continued after a moment, casting an uncertain glance toward Paul Purcell, the hospital administrator standing on the other side of the bed. Then he paused, and taking a deep breath told Grissom sadly, "This…is it for Sara, I'm afraid."

Grissom snapped his head round to the doctor, his eyes wide with shocked disbelief.

"I know my words sound insensitive, cold and callous," Dr Flanders added with a small apologetic smile, "but you must understand that _this_ is the best we can expect for her." He paused letting his words sink. "The best _you _can hope for her. She is_ not _going to get better. I'm afraid the second CT scan showed the same results as the previous one."

Grissom shook his head miserably. "No, no, no…." He choked back a sob and his gaze steadfast on Sara, rasped in a fraught whisper, "What about yesterday's peak?"

Dr Flanders looked at Grissom with unconcealed pity and compassion. "It was just as I told you then, an isolated and unexplained anomaly and sadly, with no repetition since."

Grissom stared at Sara through his tears and spoke his next words so softy that it seemed they were meant for her and her only. "But yesterday afternoon…we talked. I don't understand. We…" he flicked a hopeful gaze to the doctor. "Wasn't there another, a second peak then?"

Dr Flanders shook his head slowly. "No. I'm very sorry but there wasn't. Mr Grissom," he paused with a sigh, "Sara's EEG has remained flat since and the brain scan is unequivocal. She shows no reaction to pain, no cranial nerve reflexes and no spontaneous respiration. I'm afraid that as we feared, Sara shows absolutely no brain activity at all."

Grissom was shaking his head in disbelief. "That's not possible…"

"Would you like to take a look at the reading for yourself?"

Grissom shook his head in the negative. "There's got to be a mistake," he choked out as he gripped Sara's hand tighter. "Somewhere, somehow you got to have made a mistake. She isn't gone. She can't be gone. She just can't."

Movement slightly to the right of the hospital administrator startled him, reminding him of another person's presence in the room. He turned, narrowing his gaze at the unfamiliar woman. She stood back, looking down to her feet with her hands clasped together in front of her. Grissom wiped his eyes, straining to read the ID tag clipped to the lapel of her suit jacket.

On noticing this, Purcell turned and cleared his throat. "Dr Grissom, this is Janet Ward. She's a representative of the local OPO."

"OPO?" Grissom repeated aghast as the woman looked up.

"The Organ Procurement Organization," Purcell explained briefly. "We took it upon ourselves since no known next-of-kin's have yet come forward, to contact her."

Grissom stared at the woman with shock. Then shock made way to painful realisation. "Organ donation?" he croaked in disbelief. His tears gone, he turned an icy glare at Dr Flanders. "What is _she_ doing here?"

Janet Ward opened her mouth to speak but Purcell lifted his hand, indicating he was happy to handle the situation. "Dr Grissom, are you aware that Sara has a living will?"

Blindsided, Grissom turned toward Purcell, blinking and shaking his head uncertainly. He swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat. "A living will?"

"Yes, an Advanced Health Care Directive as it's formally called." Purcell paused. "You didn't know about it? Sara didn't share this decision with you?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "Sara had a copy of it kept with her medical records. I have it with me." He moved toward a manila envelope on the table. "Would you like to see it?"

Stunned into silence, Grissom declined with a shake of his head. His vision blurred, he turned his head incredulously toward Sara and ran his hand over his mouth nervously. "When did she…" his mouth felt dry and the words struggled to come out. He tried clearing his throat, in vain.

"Sir, would you like a glass of water?" Janet Ward asked noticing Grissom's growing discomfort. To his silent nod, she went to the adjoining bathroom to fill a glass and handed it to him with a sympathetic smile. He took a hesitant sip and then another and handed the glass back with trembling hands. "When was the will drafted?" he then asked quietly.

Purcell picked up the folder and took out some documents. He flicked through the various pages until he got to the one he was looking for. "January 21st 2001," he said. "She had the will drafted here in Vegas."

Purcell held the papers out for Grissom to look at but the latter just waved them away. "January 21st 2001?" he repeated in a small voice, somehow knowing that the date should mean more to him than it did. "Weren't there ever any…amendments to the will after…after we became…afterwards?"

"Not that I can see."

Grissom exhaled a lengthy breath. "Why didn't she tell me about it?" His tone was more resigned than accusatory.

Purcell shrugged. "I can't answer that, I'm afraid." He flicked on to the next page and scanned it briefly for the correct paragraph. "On it," he added, "Sara clearly stipulates that, and I quote, 'If ever I am in the situation when prolonging my life means to keep me on life support – breathing machines, feeding tube and so forth – for ever, then the right decision would be to end the misery. I do not want to live my life in a vegetative state.'" He paused and looked at Grissom. "She is very clear in her wishes. Would you like me to read on?"

The pain in his chest came on fast like a vice gripping his heart and squeezing the life out of it. Grissom closed his eyes, releasing a flow of silent tears as the last eight years of his life replayed in slow motion in his head.

Almost eight years to the day since Sara and he had first met. That fateful lecture at Berkeley he had almost cancelled at the last minute because the lab was snowed under with cases. He had met a colleague there, a friend who had readily accepted to uproot her life and move to Vegas simply because he had asked her to.

More than four years of happiness he had denied himself – had denied both of them – because of his fears, his cowardice and stubbornness at accepting the blatantly obvious. He was in love with her. In her, he had found a soul mate, the perfect match he had unknowingly been waiting for almost all of his life. Four precious years he had wasted with his stupid games. Years he could never get back.

And just when he had finally allowed himself love, happiness and fulfilment, when he had finally allowed her to take down every single one of his intricately woven barricades, it was about to be taken away from him.

He smiled emptily to himself and shook his head in reply to Purcell's original question. "No, thank you very much," his sad shake of the head seemed to say, "but I do not wish to listen to anymore of Sara's death wishes." The already heavily bleeding wound of his broken heart would leave a gaping hole, a void that could never be filled. A void that would ultimately swallow him whole.

Purcell watched as Grissom slowly fell apart in front of him. "Does this sound like something Sara would write?" he asked, giving one final turn of the vice around Grissom's heart.

The truth of the words stung him deeply. Grissom reopened his eyes, hot tears still falling freely, and looked up toward the three expectant faces. "You don't understand," he murmured in a heart-wrenching gasp. "If I let you pull the plug, if I let you kill her….if you let Sara die, what would be the point-"

Dr Flanders glanced at Janet Ward. "We wouldn't be _pulling_ _the plug_, Mr Grissom," he cut in gently. "We would be following Sara's wishes. She made it very clear. _This_," he added opening his hand toward the hospital bed and the machines keeping Sara alive, "isn't what Sara _wants_."

Grissom followed the slow progress of the doctor's hand across the bed with his eyes and then stared at Sara with pained incredulity. She had already decided her own fate. She had decided the course her life should take but hadn't told him about it. She had made the decision concerning her future – their future – for him. Like dry sand slipping through his fingers, he could feel her life slip away. He had no control over the situation. He had no control over her life.

He was losing her.

"Besides, her death wouldn't be in vain," Dr Flanders was now saying with a sidelong glance at the organ coordinator, jarring Grissom out of his thoughts.

The latter took her cue. "Besides the will, Sara carries a Uniform Donor Card," she stated a little hesitantly. Grissom's head shot round to the woman. There was no anger in his gaze, no surprise; only profound misery at the realisation that he was all alone. "Did you know about that?"

He averted his gaze back to Sara and slowly nodded his head. "We both do."

The organ coordinator raised a brow in surprise. "So you did discuss organ donation with her. It is obviously something you both believe in?"

His gaze a million miles away, Grissom pondered the truth of the woman's words silently.

"Sara would help a lot of sick people, save a lot of lives," Purcell chipped in. "She was a healthy young woman-"

"Is."

"Pardon me?"

"Sara _is_ a healthy young woman," Grissom said in a murmur. His lips pursed into a sad smile. "She is loving and caring, forgiving and generous and funny…and smart-"

The hospital administrator nodded distractedly. "But she suffered a severe trauma to the head which left most of her internal organs intact," he said talking over the last of Grissom's words. "She is a prime candidate for organ donation."

Grissom glared at the man in stunned silence. Purcell didn't see his Sara on that hospital bed; he saw a corpse, organs that he could just distribute. Grissom's expression darkened as the last shaky foundations of his love and life with Sara crumbled around him. His eyes now ablaze with fury he grit, "I won't let you do it. I won't give consent. And legally you cannot take her organs without her next-of-kin's…" the words died on his lips.

"Consent?" Purcell finished with a questioning rise of his brow. "But let me remind you that you're _not _Sara's next-of-kin."

Janet Ward stepped in. "Sir, I feel your pain really I do…"

"How dare you?" Grissom spat, turning his glare at the woman. "How can you stand here, smile at me and tell me you feel my pain. You have no idea what I'm feeling. You have no idea what it's like to feel empty and cold and dead inside. To feel powerless because part of you is dying and there's nothing you can do." He paused to catch his breath. "Don't you dare stand here with your empty words and tell me what I'm feeling."

Janet let out a long breath, moving closer to Grissom. "You're right, Mr Grissom. I'm sorry. I can't begin to know what you're going through but I've met many, many people in your situation; families who aren't ready to let go, who feel their lives aren't worth living without their loved ones, without the most precious person in their world – parents, husbands and wives, and children – people just like you." The organ coordinator reached out to him, touching his arm. "But Sara can make a difference to so many lives, sick people, people on their death beds..."

Grissom flinched as though branded by the woman's touch. "You're right," he cut in tersely, "I'm not ready to let go. My life isn't worth living without her in it and she _is_ the most precious thing in my world but you're all wrong on one count," he added icily. "I haven't lost her. She isn't gone. She is still with me." He turned his gaze toward Purcell and Dr Flanders. "I won't let you make a mistake."

Clearly in shock, Grissom stared each person in the eye in turn, only to be met by three pitying faces. His vision blurred again and he turned his head toward Sara one last time, as though silently pleading for the unthinkable, for a sign from her that would show everyone they were wrong. He shook his head again, his tears escaping, and he swallowed painfully.

"No," he finally said a lot more calmly. "This isn't going to happen. She's still here…with us, can't you see it?" He paused and swallowed again as he took Sara's hand. "Can you not _feel_ it? Her heart's beating in her chest. Her heart's still beating in here," he continued lifting Sara's hand to his heart. He tentatively reached his other hand to Sara's face but couldn't bring himself to make contact. "Sara, honey, please, you got to give them a sign. Something. I know you can do it. Please just…give them a sign."

Purcell had had enough and was ready to leave. He gathered his papers. "This isn't getting us anywhere," he said brusquely. "Have you got in touch with her mother yet?"

"I'm not giving up on her."

"That's not what I asked," Purcell replied. "You need to contact her. Now – today. If she hasn't made contact with us by tomorrow, we will."

Janet Ward sighed, gently brushing her hand to Grissom's arm. "Mr Grissom, please think about what we've said. Take some time and think about Sara's wishes." She held out her card. "Here's my number if you have any questions." Grissom didn't take the card.

"These decisions don't have to be made straightaway," Dr Flanders added warmly. "Sara's condition is stable. Let's give Mr Grissom some time with her." He clasped Grissom on the shoulder. "I'll be in my office if you want to talk."

Grissom watched Sara with a mixture of pained disbelief, heartbreak and disappointment for a long moment. Then he brought his steely gaze to Dr Flanders and shook his head once. "That won't be necessary. Hasn't everything already been said? Does what I think, what I want, matter anyway? Does what I _feel_?" He returned his tear-filled gaze to Sara. The pain of what he thought of, at that moment, as Sara's ultimate betrayal was too great and overwhelming for him to be able to censor the grief from his eyes. He felt incredibly let down, abandoned, and bereaved.

And sadly, Sara could see all these emotions reflected in his gaze.

"_Gil, please don't look at me like this. I'm sorry; I never thought about the will. I never meant for any of this to happen. It was all such a lifetime ago."_

Grissom could only stare back at her silently.

"_Gil, please. Please, don't look at me like that. It breaks my heart to see you like this; don't you understand why I did it?"_

Grissom tilted his head to the side and roughly wiped his tears with the back of his hand. He averted his eyes to the floor, dropping Sara's hand.

"_Gil, please stay."_ She was crying now._ "Talk to me. Let me explain. Don't run away from this."_

Completely overcome by his grief, Grissom turned his back on Sara, headed toward the door.

"_Gil, you can't leave me here on my own. I need you. I can't do this alone. You're my strength. _

Grissom paused as he got to the door and shook his head quickly, trying to silence Sara's heartbreaking pleas.

Her tone changed becoming harder. _"Oh, that's right. I forgot. Revert back to form. Run away, hide yourself behind your mask, pretend you're not feeling. It's easier that way, isn't it? Easier to pretend you don't care." _

Hand on the handle, Grissom scrunched his eyes shut, her words piercing right through his heart.

"_When I think of the times I told Nick he was wrong about you. But you know what? He was right."_

Grissom turned round and cast one last forlorn glance toward the bed, toward Sara's sleeping form. He stared mutely, nodding his agreement to her words, silently begging her for forgiveness. He couldn't help the confusion he felt at that moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

* * *

Tbc.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Grissom hasn't lost his marbles, well, not all of them; he's just in tune with his inner Sara. Imagine her voice to be the voice of his conscience and enjoy.

Some dialogue borrowed from another one of my favourite episodes, 1.16. _Too Tough to Die_ and sadly isn't mine.

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The hospital chapel was dark, cold and silent when he went in and remarkably empty too. _Dark, cold, silent and empty_, he snorted, shaking his head. _I'll feel right at home then_. He crossed himself hurriedly, a gesture drilled into him at such a young age that he did it automatically and without much significance. As the door closed behind him, he wondered why he had found his way there. He hadn't come to pray for a miracle or seek guidance from some higher power; that much he knew.

Feeling incredibly weary he closed his eyes and leaned against the door, too numb by what had just happened to do anything else. Tears of rage burned in the corner of his eyes, tears he resolutely refused to shed. But the rage bubbling just below the surface and threatening to boil over with disastrous consequences wasn't directed at Sara. How could it be? Despite his reaction in her hospital room he wasn't angry at _her_. Of course, he was bitter, he felt betrayed and disappointed by her decision. And he felt guilty too for his reaction. But how could he be angry at her when all she had done was to keep true to herself and her beliefs? Sara was being Sara until the very end and he loved her dearly for it.

Surprisingly, Sara's doctors weren't the focus of his rage either. They too met people on the worst day of their lives and had a job to do. They hadn't put Sara in that hospital bed, her attackers had. As Grissom thought about them his lips unknowingly curled into a small cold smile. Those bastards were the sole cause of his fury, that shattering grief that slowly consumed him and at that moment, in that chapel he made himself the promise that he would get rightful retribution for what they had done to Sara.

As though guided by a higher force, he ventured inside the room down the aisle toward the altar. There was a peace, a kind of warmth, a safety and intimacy to the place he could not quite describe but recognised and had unknowingly been seeking. He stared at the slowly blurring depiction of Christ on the cross hanging over the altar for a moment before scrunching his eyes shut overwrought by his senses. Suddenly feeling weak, he blindly felt his way to the front pew and collapsed onto it, folding in upon himself as he allowed his grief to overcome him and his tears to flow.

How long he remained alone with his pain and tortured by his guilt was anybody's guess. But out of the blue he froze, his sobs ceasing immediately. He raised his head, wiping furiously at his tears, his eyes glazing over as he searched the inner recesses of his soul. _January 21st 2001, _echoed in his head hauntingly. He tried to cast his mind back to a defining moment, an event in Sara's life which would explain her need to make a will. And then he shook his head sadly, sighing as his lips pursed in realisation.

Pamela Adler. Of course; it all made sense now.

"_The husband doesn't get it," Sara said sadly. She shook her head and brushed a tear from her cheek. "He's so happy she's going to live. He doesn't realize she's going to be in a vegetative state for the rest of her life…" Her voice broke. "And that kid Thorpe ... is going to be out of juvie in 48 months. It's not fair," she choked in a whisper before wiping her eyes again._

_Seated on a chair near her and watching her intently, Grissom took a breath. "It's the system."_

"_What kind of system rewards the suspect when the victim is too tough to die?"_

_Grissom had no answer to give Sara so he looked away, remaining silent. Sara got up from the chair and turned away, headed for the door. _

"_Sara," Grissom called, stopping her at the door. She turned toward him, her heartache and consequent heartbreak over the case clearly visible. "You got to learn to let this go or you're going to spend all your time in hospitals trying to help the people you couldn't save."_

_His comment felt like a slap in the face. Sara looked away briefly and then flicked her pained gaze back up to him. "I wish I was like you, Grissom," she said with obvious disappointment. "I wish I didn't feel anything." She held his gaze for an instant, turned and left his office without another word._

_Grissom turned away from the closing door and took a deep, fraught breath. _Oh, Sara, how can you be so wrong? How can you not see? How can you not know how much I feel? If only it were as simple as not feeling anything. But feeling I do. And so much.

_By the time he sprang up to his feet and out into the corridor, Sara had gone. Rushing, he looked inside the various labs and offices all the way to the garage. Thinking she had most probably already fled he slowly made his way back to his office. As he walked past the locker room he heard quiet, muffled sobs. He paused outside the door in brief hesitation before scanning his glance up and down the corridor. Releasing a long breath he slowly turned the handle, opening the door a crack._

_Sara was sitting astride the wooden bench in the middle of the room. She was folded in upon herself, her head in her hands and hung low as she cried softly._

_Grissom shut the door quietly behind him and stood awkwardly for a moment at a loss as to how best to proceed. He took a shaky breath, his heart heavy with concealed emotion. _

_What he most desperately wanted was to sit down across from her, pull her to him and envelop her in his strong arms. He felt the irrational urge to protect her; protect her from pain but most importantly protect her from herself. He wanted nothing more than to be the one to console her, ease her heartache over the case and make it all go away. _

_He ached for her touch. He wanted her to lean on him and cry into his shoulder. He wanted to stroke his hand over her hair, brush his fingers over her tears and his lips over hers. He wished he were capable of speaking soothing words to her, words of comfort, of understanding and words of love she would return._

_But he couldn't. All he had to offer her, the best he could offer her in the situation were useless words of apologies._

"_I'm sorry," he said quietly at last as he sat himself down on the bench directly in front of her. He lifted a trembling hand to her face but didn't make contact. The hand hovered uncertainly over Sara's hair before being quickly removed self-consciously, torn between his desires as a man and his duty as her boss._

_On hearing his murmured apology, Sara startled as though all the while she had been unaware of his presence in the room. Her quiet sobs gradually calmed and she turned away from his stare without looking up. She wiped the palms of her hands over her eyes and swung her leg over the bench, getting up. Opening herself up to him in his office was bad enough; having him watch while she fell apart unbearable. She moved to her locker and opened it._

"_Sara, please…"_

_She shot her head round to him, her gaze dark and unforgiving. "You don't need to do this," she said. "In fact, I don't want you to do this." She flicked her gaze to a point beyond his shoulder. "I'm fine. I-"_

"_No, Sara."_

"_Please don't do this."_

"_Don't do what?" he asked with evident bewilderment._

"_Pretend you care," Sara wanted to scream from the top of her voice but instead she kept resolutely silent._

_Grissom sighed and shrugged in a helpless manner, averting his gaze to his hands. "What I said before," he pulled a pained face, "I didn't mean it the way it came out. My words made what you feel about Pam Adler sound like a criticism…a flaw, a weakness and that wasn't my intention."_

_Sara stared at the top of his head blankly, waiting for him to continue. Well, she needn't have. When he didn't say anymore, she shook her head in disbelief, smiling knowingly to herself and turned round toward her locker. Shaky hands unclipped her CSI badge from the waistband of her pants and she angrily tossed it into her locker before reaching for her gym bag._

_When she turned round again, Grissom had got to his feet and was centimetres away from her. She took a quick step back, colliding with the lockers and raised her hands in front of her in an attempt at maintaining some distance between them. "Listen, Grissom," she said pre-empting his words and holding his gaze, "I should have known better. I won't let it happen again." _

_She turned, shut her locker door quietly and brushed past him on her way out._

Grissom dried his tears quickly. He needed to get back to Sara. He needed to explain and apologise. How could he have left her when she needed him the most? How could he have left her to face her uncertain future alone? He wasn't that man any more. He wasn't this bumbling idiot who could never do right by Sara. Accepting and embracing his love for her had changed him. His priorities had changed. His work was still important and still occupied a big place in his life but it wasn't everything anymore. Sara was.

He jumped to his feet, determined to make it up to her. He was about to leave when the chapel door opened causing him to pause in his movement, quickly bowing his head feigning prayer. When a familiar hand came to rest on his shoulder he gasped in surprise before closing his eyes and leaning his cheek against it. He didn't need words or to turn around to know who had come to comfort him. He brought his own hand up and squeezed the hand on his shoulder gratefully. He clenched his eyes tighter in an effort to control his emotion and then turned around. "I'm sorry," he murmured hoarsely. "I'm so sorry, love. I know I let you down."

Sara squeezed his hand lovingly and smiled softly at him. "No, Gil, _I'm_ sorry. _I_ let you down. You're only trying to deal with my mess."

Grissom's eyes filled with fresh tears. He tugged Sara toward him and stared at her, looking straight into her eyes, fighting to keep his composure. Then he pulled her sharply to him in a crushing embrace and held her tight for a very long time as though fearing that if he let go he'd never have the chance to hold her again.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asked into her hair when he was calmer. "I don't even know how or why I got here myself."

Sara smiled and pushed away from him. Her smile widened as she slowly stroked her hand to his face. "I knew. I'm always with you, remember?"

Grissom smiled, nodding his head. "I shouldn't have left you on your own; I'm sorry. I just-"

Sara placed her index finger over his lips, making a shushing sound and smiled. Then she took his hands in hers and motioned with her head for them to sit down on the pew. "I didn't do it to spite you, Gil," she said quietly after a moment, breaking the silence. "You got to believe that. Having the will drafted was just a way of keeping control over my life right until the very end, you know?" She paused, smiling sadly at him. "I should have discussed it with you though, afterwards when we got serious and I'm sorry for not doing that."

Grissom gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I'm scared to death, Sara. I'm petrified of losing you and there's nothing I can do to stop you slipping away." He paused in thought, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "You remember when I took you home for my mother's funeral?"

"We went for a walk on the beach afterwards and we walked all the way to the lighthouse in the harbour."

"Fisherman's village," Grissom mused. He took a moment, his eyes glazing over in memory. "I remember standing on the viewing platform with the cool wind in my face, thinking of my mother and her passing and what it meant. We watched the boats slowly sail away toward the ocean until they got so small they disappeared merging together with the horizon and we lost track of them. Do you remember?"

Sara nodded with a smile. He fell silent and she watched him, waiting for him to continue. He took a long breath and then refocused his gaze on her. "I feel like I did then," he said candidly. "Like I'm left behind on the shore and I'm watching you sail away from me, powerless to stop you from leaving, knowing that you're never coming back to me." Grissom looked down to their joined hands as he practically forced the words out.

Sara pulled her right hand out of his and brought it up to his face. She gently coaxed his head up until he had no choice but look at her. "Gil, I'm not leaving you behind. I am part of you as you are part of me."

Grissom nodded his head slowly, blinking and pinching his lips anxiously. "That's the reason why when you go I will go with you."

"No," Sara said holding his gaze. She slowly stroked her hand to his eyes, saying, "You will keep me alive...in here." And then she lowered her hand from his eyes to his chest, placing it palm down over his heart and murmured, "And in here."

Grissom smiled, his smile wobbling and gradually fading into sadness as his eyes misted over.

"Gil, please don't resent me," she said. "I couldn't stand it if you were angry because of the will."

Grissom was shaking his head. "Oh, honey, I'm not mad at you for making the will. No. I understand why you did it. It came as a shock that's all. I never saw it coming."

"I'm a control freak," Sara cut it with a cheeky smile as though that explained everything. And maybe it did.

Grissom chuckled softly. "I'm no better," he conceded, his sadness dissipating a little. "Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

Sara shrugged, her face becoming serious, her body stiffening up. "It never came up."

"Sara…" he remonstrated at her defensiveness.

She sighed. "Honestly? I just stored it away and forgot about it. Even though we face it everyday at work, death's not something we chose to talk about at home, is it?"

"Was it the Pamela Adler case that-?"

"You remember?" Sara asked with astonishment and then her shoulders rose again. "That case…I realised something about myself that day. I realised that if something were to happen to me, I was all alone. I didn't have parents or a husband like Pam, someone who cared. And even then, I wanted to be the one in charge of my…destiny till the very end." She paused in thought and then added quietly, "And truth be told, I didn't want my mother to have to make that kind of decision anyway."

"Or me?" he murmured hesitantly.

She shrugged but then nodded her head. "It's not that I don't trust you to make the right choice; I know you would. I know you will," she added after a pause, smiling as she held his gaze meaningfully. "But when I did the will, I was in a bad place. I was angry with you. I thought you didn't care." She lifted her hand to his face and smiled warmly. "I know better now."

"And your mother?"

Sara frowned. "I couldn't take the risk she'd decide to prolong my life. She'd never let me go the way I want."

Grissom looked up, an idea forming in his mind. Could Sara's mother be an ally? Could she be Sara's lifeline? "How do you know?" he asked.

"I just do. Not after what happened; not after what she did to my father."

Grissom pondered Sara's words with interest. "You…know where she is?"

Sara's face shut off. Then she sighed, averting her gaze to the back corner of the room, a small white marble statue of Mary holding her infant child to her chest catching her eye. Drawn to it, she got up to examine it. A few small candles were lit up around the base, their ethereal glow casting dancing shadows over Sara's face. She tentatively traced her fingers over the icon pensively and then stopped, closing her eyes in thought.

"She…she's tried to make contact a few times," she said after a long while. "I never did." Then she turned around toward him, her lips pursed into an uncertain smile. "You need to do this, don't you?" she said, cutting into his thoughts. "To be able to let me go?"

Grissom lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I need to know I did everything I could to try to save you, yes. And that means buying us some time."

Sara sighed, nodding her head in understanding. She turned away, wandering off around the chapel, looking closely at the mural depictions. "Why did you come here?" she asked him as she studied a wooden carving of a saint mounted on the wall.

"I have no idea," he replied honestly, his eyes following her every move. "What about your brother?" he asked tentatively.

Sara moved on to another carving. "Huh?"

"Your brother," he insisted. "You know where he is?"

"We…lost touch. He never went through the foster care system like I did. He was old enough to make his own choices in life and he chose to move away. I never heard from him since." Sara paused and turned round to watch him. Then she nodded to herself and resigned to doing things his way said, "There's a shoebox in the bedroom closet of my apartment. It's on the top shelf on the left hand side…right at the back. It's got everything you'll need in it."

Grissom's eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he smiled his thanks at her, lapsing into silence. He had that sad far-away look in his eyes again and Sara quickly strode back to him. "Come on," she said brightly, grabbing his hand to pull him up to his feet. "I need fresh air. Let's go out somewhere."

Grissom pursed his face dubiously.

The grin she flashed him was wide, mischievous and infectious. "We're in this together, remember? They won't do anything yet. Not until my mother gets here."

Grissom watched her for a long time with uncertainty. Then his face lit up with a grin and he nodded his head in excitement. Hand in hand, they almost ran out of the chapel and out of the hospital. As they reached his car Grissom stopped abruptly, pulled her to him and then watched her intently with pure undying love. He brushed away a strand of hair caught in the corner of her mouth and with his finger under chin tilted her head up while inclining his head to the side, slowly teasing his way near her mouth. Unable to contain his yearning any longer he captured her lips in an almost frenzied kiss. Sara's hands flew up to his head, her fingers frantically raking his hair as she leaned into him deepening their kiss even more and kick-starting his heart back to life.

When Sara pulled back she was breathless and grinning at him with excitement. "Come on," she said. "Let's go chasing rabbits. Before we go to my apartment, I want you to take me kiss the sky one last time."

Grissom's eyes widened with uncontained glee. "The top of the world?"

"The top of the world."

Laughing joyfully, Grissom lifted her off the ground and twirled her round in the air. "I love you Sara Sidle," he said, looking straight into her eyes. "I love you with my life."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I've gone slightly off script. Only slightly, mind but I'm wondering…should I keep him in his dreamlike fantasy a little longer?

It's Mother's Day here in the UK on Sunday. So Happy Mother's day to all the mums around the world; take the day off, you deserve it.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I realise that the High Roller shut down late December 2005. That didn't fit with my timeline so I used a little poetic licence and kept it open a little longer.

Also, according to CSI Companion, Grissom took Warrick to the New York New York for his evaluation at the end of _Evaluation Day_. Again, for the purpose of this story I'll pretend otherwise and they went to the High Roller instead. TPTB, I'd love for you to sue me but you won't, so there!

The support with this story is phenomenal and your comments truly amazing and humbling to me. If you have never reviewed or haven't in a while let me know if you're (still) reading and enjoying. I love to hear from all of you, so please keep your opinions and kind words of encouragement coming. They mean a lot.

* * *

Grissom stepped out of the elevator onto the observation deck at the top of the Stratosphere Tower and was hit full force by the midday sun's bright rays. It was a beautiful clear Monday, a perfect day for what Grissom had in mind. He took a long breath in as he closed his eyes, the cool clean air filling his nostrils making him feel alive.

Sara was by his side, laughing as though without a care in the world. She looked youthful and fresh with the cold wind blowing her hair about her face as she marvelled at the view. Grissom could only watch on, the proud loving grin never leaving his lips. Sara pointed toward the Stratosphere's newest ride, the Insanity and tugged him excitedly toward the safety railings at the very edge of the platform to take a closer look. She stopped abruptly and stared at the ride speechless as the huge mechanical arm with four finger-like claws holding the riders in place lifted off the ground and swung out over the edge of the tower.

"Oh my God, Gil," she gasped as the ride began to spin its dangling passengers quickly about into the air. The screams and the looks of sheer terror on the riders' faces said it all. "You're not taking me on that."

Grissom burst into a quiet chuckle and then slowly shook his head in reply. They stared into each other's eyes intently for a moment and then the loud roar of the High Roller barrelling around above their heads broke the enchantment. Grissom looked up toward the roller coaster, smiled and winked mischievously at Sara. Clasping her hand tighter he led her briskly to the western side of the tower but stopped abruptly on his way, lifting their joined hands toward the vast expanse of cloudless blue sky in front of them.

"Sara, meet the top of the world," he whispered in her ear before depositing a soft kiss in her hair. "Isn't this just…breathtaking?"

Sara's face was lit up with wonderment at the sight before her. "It's more mind-blowing every time," she replied awe-struck, flashing a grin at Grissom. "I will _never_ tire of this view. It's the only good thing about Vegas – except for some of the people obviously," she added quietly with a sideways glance toward him but he was too mesmerised by the view to notice.

She leaned over the railing as far as she could and brought her free hand up to shield her eyes, keeping her hair out of her face. Her eyes were darting all over the place as she took it all in. The grin of pure elation never left her lips as she gazed at the hazy outline of Red Rock Mountains and Mount Charleston ahead toward the west. From their vantage point 329 meters above ground they had views over all the expected landmarks, the familiar shapes of the grandest hotels and resorts dwarfed at their feet so instantly recognisable. And yet the unsightly sprawling concrete jungle that is Vegas in the daylight didn't interest Sara the slightest and her gaze remained locked onto the barren desert stretching toward the red mountains she loved so much.

Grissom couldn't take his eyes off Sara. He was entranced, captivated by her beauty and the emotions of jubilation and delight reflected on her face. He brushed his loving gaze over every nuance of her eyes and her face as they glinted in the sunlight and his fingers gently over the bare skin of her shoulders. His expression turned wistful and sad as he remembered the very first time he had brought her here, their first date to _their_ top of the world. His heart filled with incredible sorrow and despair as he thought of all the things he and Sara wouldn't get to share anymore.

Sara turned and noticing the melancholic look in his eyes, squeezed his hand warmly. Grissom startled and shook his head, beaming a wide smile at her. "A penny for your thoughts," she shouted to be heard over the noise of the rides.

Grissom leaned over and brushed his lips to her ear. "I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you in my life," he murmured.

Sara simply smiled wider at his words and then pushed herself off the railings. "Come on thrill-seeker, let's go catch that ride before I change my mind."

Grissom looked up to watch the High Roller as it once again barrelled round above their heads. "You know they're shutting it down?" he said with regret and with a nod toward the roller coaster. He had to shout to be heard over the noise of the cars and the shrill screams of the riders. "In a few weeks, this ride will be no more."

"Sad day for coaster fans," Sara said, trying desperately not to laugh at the sad mournful tone of his voice.

Grissom nudged her playfully in the ribs. "Don't mock; this is by far my favourite ride in Vegas."

Sara sobered up quickly. "I know. I'm sorry."

Grissom gave a small shrug of the shoulder. "It's the very first ride they built on top of the Stratosphere. It does a few circles around the top of the tower and is surprisingly tame but the altitude heightens your sensations. Its top speed of thirty miles an hour is nothing to boast about and yet the view of the strip – of the whole of Vegas actually, is awesome – literally. It never goes very fast, probably because if it did the centrifugal force would have destabilised the whole tower but regardless…it's the only place in the whole of Vegas where I can come and lose myself - recharge and refocus."

Sara lifted her hand to his face and wiped a bit of fluff from his cheek. "I know."

"They're turning it into another, higher, bigger observation deck."

Sara kept her hand on his cheek and stroked her fingers to it tenderly. "There's always the Sahara."

"Yeah." There was no joy in his reply. "But it's not the same. There's something special about this one." He lapsed into a wistful silence and Sara stared silently at him. "You know I took Warrick riding with me once?" he said after a moment.

Sara's lips curled into a cheeky crooked smile. "His evaluation? Yeah, he told us about that. He'd never admit it to you, Gil," she added, "but he was shit scared."

Grissom laughed. "I know. That's why I brought him…to shake him up. We rode them all – except the Big Shot – and by the time we finished he was weeping like a girl. He said it was because of the wind but I don't buy it."

Sara burst out laughing. "I, on the other hand, love every second of the High Roller. So come on, let's go!"

"You've been on this one lots of times, Sara," Grissom said quietly as he pulled her back to him. He pointed to the top of the needle. "Isn't it time you tried something that will make _you_ weep like a girl?"

Sara stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him in disbelief. He was smiling sweetly at her, his brow raised in challenge. Sara slowly looked up skyward toward _the_ ride of the Stratosphere, the Big Shot. She watched as the riders, their legs dangling into the air, shot up straight up the tower's steeple, 160 feet in two seconds, at four G's. Then her eyes followed their rapid descent as they almost freefell so fast they got negative G's. Before she knew it the riders were propelled up again reaching the tip of the needle in no time. She swallowed, shaking her head and turned back toward Grissom whose wondrous eyes were fixed on the ride.

She watched the look of pure delight on his face. "All right," she said finally. "Let's do it." Grissom snapped his head down toward her in bewilderment. "Let's live a little," she added by way of explanation.

"Okay," Grissom shouted to be heard. "Let's do it." He pulled her toward him and mouthed "Thank you," as he pressed a long lingering kiss to her lips.

* * *

"Just the one, Sir?" the ride attendant asked, startling Grissom out of his thoughts.

Grissom pulled his wallet out of his pocket and glanced to his left. He smiled a wistful smile before nodding his head sadly and replying "Yeah," in a despondent sigh.

"Grissom, wait!" came a breathless familiar voice as he paid his fare.

Grissom turned round and, shaking his head wondering whether he was hearing voices, saw Warrick weaving his way through the crowd to the front of the line.

"Griss, I'll ride with you," Warrick said putting some dollar bills down on the counter.

Grissom nodded, his brow raised in surprise. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't."

Turning back to the ride operator Grissom said, "We'll take two seats on the western side."

"Any reason we want to be facing west?" Warrick asked as they walked away.

"Sara loves the view," Grissom replied quietly.

Warrick nodded his understanding. "Nick and I went to the hospital earlier," he said as they got to the loading bay. "We were surprised not to find you there considering…" he shrugged leaving his sentence unfinished. "We had a word with Sara's nurse..." he sighed. "Anyways, then I came here."

"Where else, huh?"

Not knowing what to say Warrick looked down to his feet waiting for the ride. When he felt Grissom's nudge of the elbow he looked up and followed him to their 'seats'.

"I'm okay," Grissom said quietly as he sat down. "I appreciate your concern and what you're doing but you don't have to." He pinched his lips to hide his smile. "This is a _man_'s ride, Warrick and it's not too late to bail."

"You're calling me a wuss?" Warrick chuckled back as the automatic shoulder restraints came down over their heads. He grabbed the safety guard with both hands and pulled down hard to make sure the damn thing was secure. Instantly, the buzzer sounded alerting them to impending lift-off.

The cheeky smile escaped Grissom's lips. "Try not to cry this time, huh?" he managed to tell his friend just before screaming his lungs out as they shot up to kiss the sky.

* * *

The theme tune to a M.A.S.H rerun blared at him through the door and Grissom impatiently rang the doorbell a third time, coupling that with loud banging of his fist on the door. Whatever brief reprieve he had felt after his coaster ride was well and truly gone now.

"All right, all right," came a harried male voice from the other side. "Just a minute, I was in the john. No need to break the door down; I'm coming."

He heard the scraping of the burglar chain as it was slid into place followed by the turning of the deadlock and then the door opened a crack.

"Mr Grissom, hey!" The man smiled friendlily and motioned for Grissom to wait while he closed the door to remove the chain. The sound on the television was muted and then the chain was slid off. "Not seen you for a while," the man said on opening the door wide. He moved aside, inviting Grissom in with a nod of the head.

Holding a large Wal-Mart carrier bag, Grissom took a couple of hesitant steps forward but remained just at the threshold. "Mr Kendall," he greeted a little stiffly.

"I keep an eye on the place as we've agreed," Walter Kendall added animatedly. To Grissom's grateful nod he added, "Nothing to report on that front."

"That's good. Huh-"

"Oh, and before I forget," Kendall cut in. "I got a small stack of post for Sara. She's not come round at all this last week or so and it soon mounts up. Mainly bills from what I saw. She's keeping well?"

Grissom's face closed off. "Hum." He managed a tight smile, saying, "We've…huh…been busy with work." He paused briefly. "I was wondering whether you'd let me have the apartment spare key for a while. I came straight from work and forgot Sara's key at home. There are a few things I need to pick up."

"Sure. Just let me get it for you."

The super shuffled off to a wall-mounted cabinet where all the apartment keys were clearly labelled, hanging off hooks with matching numbers. He took one and moved to a side table nearby and grabbed a pile of letters. Grissom watched intently as the man ambled back toward him and automatically held out his free hand for the post and key.

_"Shit, Gil, you think he washed his hands?"_

Grissom coughed, pinching his lips to stop the sudden snort of laughter from escaping. He managed to keep a straight face as he took the items out of the super's hand. "I'll make sure you get the key back as soon as I'm done," he said scanning his gaze over the top letter. "We…I might be a little while."

The man shrugged easily. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

Grissom nodded his thanks and turned his back, the door closing behind him. He heard the television come back on and then allowed himself a small chuckle at Sara's remark. Taking the steps two at a time he hurried to the next floor. Sara's apartment was directly above the super's, a small detail which, if his plan came together, would come in handy.

He unlocked the door with trembling fingers and rushed in, bolting the door after him. The drapes were pulled and the room was bathed in dim daylight. More out of habit than real intent, he toed off his shoes, tossed the post and apartment key onto the coffee table and the Wal-Mart carrier bag and jacket onto the couch.

He walked over to the desk and then remembered that it was one of the few items of furniture Sara had insisted on taking with her when she had moved into the townhouse. He heaved a great sigh and pushed those thoughts out of his mind as he scanned his gaze over the wall shelves. He smiled when he found what he was looking for and then placed the fresh incense cone in the holder which he lit with the small box of matches on the side, letting Sara's unmistakable scent fill his nostrils.

He took a moment and breathed her in. Then he made a beeline for the bedroom closet and found a large shoebox that once held a pair of DM's exactly where Sara said it would be. He pulled it out and sat down on the edge of the bed, placing the box on his lap. It looked crammed full and was held shut by a wide elastic band. He stared at the box for a long time, unsure whether he should invade Sara's privacy or not. And then his heart beating in his mouth, he took the plunge.

It was like opening the Pandora's Box of Sara's past. Inside was a jumble of documents and letters, photographs and mementos which at some point or other had been meaningful enough for Sara to want to keep. He would start from the top and slowly work his way down. Surprisingly there didn't seem to be any particular order to how the documents were arranged inside the box, which was rather surprising considering Sara's rather meticulous approach to order in her life and work.

There, right at the top as though the last thing she had tidied away laid a copy of her living will. He gulped as he took the envelope with trembling fingers and stared at it, pinching his lips to keep the tears at bay. Knowing that reading its content would be his undoing he didn't and just placed the envelope aside on the bed.

He took each document out one by one, studying each one diligently. He found a copy of Sara's certified birth certificate, her foster care official records, her emancipation papers dated 1989 – presumably when she got her scholarship to go study at Harvard – and an impressive number of certificates and diplomas. He placed these over the will.

He noticed a small piece of card stuck to the side of the box and lifted it carefully mindful not to tear it. He turned it over, his eyes filling with tears as he read the simple message, an impersonal _From Grissom_ he would regret sending Sara until the day he died. The plant had long since been turned into compost.

Toward the bottom of the box he found a large yellowing envelope. The photographs inside were faded old ones from her life before she was taken into care. He studied each one carefully comparing the young, shy-looking Sara with the Sara he loved and knew now. He continued flicking through the pictures, glimpsing at a side of Sara's life he knew next to nothing about, until he came across a small formal black and white wedding photograph.

He paused and stared for a long time at the face of the young woman dressed in a simple white wedding dress. She was smiling and looking so much like Sara that for a second it could have been her staring back at him and Grissom smiled longingly. Then his face hardened as he studied the man holding Sara's mother proudly by the waist, the man that was the cause of Sara's unhappy past.

Apart from her original heartfelt confession that day in her lounge only just next door, Sara had never really spoken about it. She was resistant to open up and after a while he had stopped pushing. She would sometimes let slip small snippets of happy memories of her early childhood but no more. Grissom gave a small disbelieving laugh as he realised that he didn't even know Sara's mother's first name and then put the wedding photograph aside for future reference.

He was finishing flicking through the remainder of the pictures when he got to a larger more recent snapshot. His lips curled into a loving smile as he remembered the day the photograph was taken. It could have been yesterday. He traced his fingers over Sara's young happy face regretting never making a return trip to where it all began.

He shook himself out of his recollections and delved deeper. Buried at the bottom of the box he found a scrap piece of paper, torn on one end with an address and a phone number scribbled in Sara's handwriting. He turned it over but there was no name.

"Safe Haven Shelter for battered women," he read aloud. "1257 Ryland Avenue, Reno, NV. (755) 555-2464." He sighed and read it again. Could these be Sara's mother's contact details? He shook his head in disbelief, surprised not by the fact that Sara had her mother's address but that the latter was in Reno, Nevada.

_"She…she's tried to make contact a few times," _echoed in his mind._ "I never did."_ How long had Sara known her mother was so near?

_"Martin Wallis. Twenty five," _Wendy had read from the screen. _"Last known address is in Reno, Nevada."_

Grissom looked up suddenly, the scrap of paper slipping from his grasp as a crazy idea flashed through his brain.

Could her own mother have masterminded the attack on Sara?

* * *

Tbc.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: No hanky warning for this chapter but you might need a sick bag/bucket for the final scene. I could have done the scene in half the words but it was a lot of fun writing it that way! I laid it on thick and it did make me feel a tad queasy though, so be prepared.

* * *

Grissom felt sick to his stomach at the thought that Sara's mother could have masterminded the attack on her own daughter. His mind was spinning wildly out of control; all sorts of fanciful ideas beginning to take shape. He took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut as he tried to curb the bile from rising up and the disturbing scenarios from forming.

Sara's mother was in Nevada. By all accounts, she had ties to Reno. She lived or worked there maybe? After all, Reno was only a short hop across the border from California. Martin Wallis also had ties to Reno; he had lived there. Could it just be a coincidence? Or did the two know each other?

"What about a motive?" Grissom asked himself aloud as he paced the room restlessly. "Why would your own mother want to hurt you so badly? Because you refused her contact? Because you refused to see her, forgive what she did after all these years?" He shook his head hardly able to believe his own thoughts. "No, no, no. It doesn't make sense. It can't be!" He let out a frustrated growl. "She wouldn't. Not on her own daughter, would she?" He buried his head in his hands. "And yet the lipstick, the cigarette…how else could you have known?"

He picked up the slip of paper off the floor and studied it, committing its content to memory. Then he reached for the shoebox and hurriedly put the scrap of paper and everything else back in it except for the two photographs which he kept out. He meticulously stretched the rubber band over the box as though trying to lock Sara's past away where it couldn't hurt and catch up with her. The box, he tidied away exactly as he had found it in the closet.

"_Crazy is as crazy does_," kept echoing in his head.

He flopped down heavily onto the edge of the bed and began massaging his temples in an effort to attenuate the migraine that had been building up for hours now. He needed time to think. He needed a second plan. And he needed to be smart about it. But time was running out. This woman he knew next-to-nothing about bar the fact that she was a murderer was Sara's mother and next of kin. He desperately needed her as an ally and not as an adversary. If she was behind the assault, he didn't want to alert her to the fact that he was on to her. If she wasn't, he needed to get in touch with her and fast. He desperately needed her help to keep Sara alive.

He headed for the bathroom and rummaged in the medicine cabinet for anything that would help with the migraine. He found some Tylenol and emptied what was left in the bottle straight into his mouth, noisily crunching the dry pills before washing them down with a little tap water. Then he pulled the shower curtain back and turned the taps full on. He went back to the bedroom and quickly shed his clothes, tossing them onto the bed. He was still shaking his head in tormented disbelief as he stepped into the small stall, wincing as the powerful spray of scolding hot water hit his skin. He adjusted the temperature and stood there, his eyes closed letting the water wash away his desolation, his ache and uncertainty as he masterminded his next move.

He got out of the shower, mumbling to himself and trailing water all the way to the closet as he fetched a towel. He paced the room some more as he towelled his hair dry and then went to the lounge wrapping the towel around his midriff, the muffled sound of the television drifting up from downstairs through the ceiling. His decision made, he took a breath, reached for his cell from his jacket pocket and quickly dialled Sara's mother's number. Before the call could be picked up on the other end, he jabbed his finger on the phone ending the call.

"Come on, Sara. Help me out here. Friend or foe?"

Phone in hand, he strode back to the bedroom and picked up the picture of Sara and him that had been taken in San Francisco. He lay atop the bed, suddenly feeling drained and weary and stared at Sara's eyes for a long time. "Oh, honey," he whispered sadly, his voice catching, "please talk to me." As he closed his eyes letting the memories of their first encounter flood him, he thought of how his life had been made whole with her in it, how so very lonely and broken he felt now and how his heart ached with love.

"_Follow your own advice, Gil. It never lies. What's it telling you?" _

Grissom sighed, nodding his head to his inner voice.

With only a deep feeling of dread to guide him and no evidence to speak of, what else could he follow but his heart?

"Safe Haven, Karen speaking, how may I help you?"

Grissom sat up straighter in bed, reaching for the only photograph of Sara's mother he had and narrowed his gaze at the smiling woman staring back at him as he spoke. "Hum, hello. I wondered if you could help me." He took a deep breath. "My name is…Gil…Gil Grissom and I'm trying to get in touch with…a Mrs Sidle? I was given this number for her but she may be using a different surname."

"What is this regarding?"

Grissom's brow rose in interest, his heartbeat speeding up at the realisation that he had the right number. He kept his voice cool, calm and expressionless. "Do you know who I'm referring to? Is Mrs Sidle a resident?"

There was a brief hesitation. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to give out personal information, Sir."

"It's very urgent that I speak with her." He paused briefly, wincing in pain as he uttered the next words. "You see, her daughter's been involved…in an accident and…"

"Her daughter?" The concern was evident in the woman's tone. "In an accident you say?"

"Sadly, yes. Is Mrs Sidle a resident?"

"No," the woman said in a long sad sigh, sounding distraught. "Laura works here. She will be devastated."

"Laura…" Grissom repeated musingly, his gaze locking onto Sara's mother's eyes. "Could I speak with her, please?"

The pause this time was lengthy. "I wish I could help you, Sir, I really do but I'm afraid you can't talk to her right now; she's out of town – has been for the last week." Grissom looked up from the photograph abruptly, his blue eyes turning a deeper, meaner shade. "What did you say your name was again?" the receptionist then asked.

"Do you know when she's going to be back?" he asked tersely.

"I…I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

Dropping any pretence at remaining cool, he said impatiently, "Can you at least give me a number I can reach her on? Tell her the news myself?"

The woman paused, hesitating at the sudden change of tone. "Who did you say you were?"

Grissom thought carefully before giving his answer. "I'm calling on behalf of the hospital Mrs Sidle's daughter's being kept in. It is of the utmost urgency that I speak with her."

"I'm afraid I can't give her number over the phone, Sir. It is against policy to-"

"Can you get a message to her then?" Grissom interrupted.

"Of course."

"Thank you. Tell her that her daughter's in a critical state. Tell her that it's a matter of life and death and that she needs to get in touch with us without delay." He made sure the receptionist understood how urgent the situation was and got his name and his cell number down correctly before hanging up. He stared at the photograph a little longer and prayed to god that the sick feeling churning at the pit of his stomach wasn't foreboding for things to come.

He didn't have time to dither now. Catching sight of the time on his phone, he quickly jumped to his feet, shedding the towel in his wake. With no time to lose, he made his way to the Wal-Mart bag in the lounge and took out everything he needed. He got dressed and recounted the two thousand dollars, which he tucked away in the inner pocket of his coat. Then he went about meticulously organising his alibi, checking and double checking everything was in place. He glanced at the time on the timing device he had just fitted and smiled to himself.

Just enough time to pick up the rental before his meeting with Marcus Jones.

* * *

The door to Sara's hospital room opened quietly. "Oh, hello," said a hushed female voice. "I was looking for Mr Grissom; would you happen to know if he's still about?"

Nick wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned toward the door with confusion.

The woman smiled warmly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." She stepped into the room a little self-consciously, shutting the door quietly after her. "I'm Janet Ward. Sara's org…hum…I'm a… family advisor." Nick nodded his head, remaining silent. "Are you family?"

Nick turned back toward Sara to conceal the flow of fresh tears Janet's question had triggered and gave a slow nod of the head in reply. In his heart, Sara _was_ family.

"Good; I'm glad they could locate you." Nick turned to look at the woman, confusion etched on his face. She continued, "I was hoping to catch Mr Grissom and have a word with him. I'm not entirely comfortable with the way things were handled this morning. Is he still around?"

Nick opened his mouth to reply but made no sound. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "I don't know. I can't imagine he'll be too far."

"The finality of Sara's condition…hum…is a tough thing to come to terms with and he took it pretty hard."

Nick smiled at the woman's evident concern and compassion. "We're all worried about him."

"He obviously loves…hum…Sara very much." Janet Ward nodded toward the bed. "Have the doctors briefed you with the latest details of her-"

"Grissom did – a little – and then the nurse explained…" Nick turned back to watch Sara, his eyes blurry with unshed tears. "Sara…Sh-she's not going to wake up?" he asked despite already knowing the answer. His voice broke and he took a deep breath.

Janet Ward moved closer to Nick and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm very sorry, Sir but no. And it's been especially hard on Mr Grissom with him not being her next-of-kin of course. Is your mother on her way?"

Nick was looking round to Janet Ward, frowning in confusion when his gaze flitted to the door.

Warrick popped his head round the door. He looked flustered and a little breathless. "Nick, man, I got a frantic call from Catherine. We need to go. She's waiting for us in Griss's office. She says he's lost it big time and…" he stopped short on noticing the organ coordinator's presence in the room and frowned suspiciously before acknowledging her with a brief nod. Looking back toward Nick, he motioned with his head toward the corridor.

Nick nodded his understanding. He couldn't say he was surprised by the turn the events were taking. Ever since their little chat at the end of shift that same morning, he had suspected Grissom would go after Sara's attackers himself and get his own justice; he had seen it so clearly in his eyes.

He turned back toward Sara and put his hand over hers. He gave it a gentle squeeze, smiling comfortingly. "Don't worry, Sar," he told her quietly. "We got his back."

* * *

She wore a denim skirt, stopping mid-thigh and frayed at the hem, no nylons to cover her bare legs and red high-heeled open-toed shoes. The air was humid and hot in the stuffy Indian Springs roadside bar and she pulled her red sleeveless silk blouse away from her chest in a vain attempt at cooling her sweaty body down. She leaned onto the jukebox machine suggestively as she fed a quarter into the slot, made her selection and then slowly moved to stand in the middle of the dimly-lit barroom.

All eyes were on her, men and a few women too gawking shamelessly. She knew it and relished the attention, played up to it in fact. She slowly brought her hand to the cigarette in her mouth, flicked her long auburn hair back over her shoulder and took a long suck, closing her eyes in reckless abandon as the smoke filled her. She slowly blew out the smoke in small clouds, carelessly flicked the butt to the dusty wooden floor and kicked off her shoes, waiting for the music to start.

The first guitar riffs of Pearl Jam's _Come back_ came playing out of the speakers. Alone, in the middle of the room with her eyes closed, she lifted her bare arms above her head and began to sway her body smoothly, indolently and in tune with the melody. The men at the pool table nearby paused their game long enough to nudge each other and make lewd loud comments and gestures.

She smiled at the attention she was getting and continued her lazy dancing, mouthing the lyrics of the song to herself; words of longing and undying love, words of consuming loneliness and crushing sorrow. The pool players heckled her a couple more times and she opened her eyes, smiling broader. She zoomed in on one of the men and winked at him brazenly. Literally lapping him up, she moved toward him gyrating and thrusting her body this way and then that way overtly turning him on. She grinned teasingly as she sang the words "Come back" and opened her mouth in a rather obscene manner, getting as much pleasure out of her debauched actions as he was.

Cigarette stuck to his bottom lip and holding a beer bottle by its neck, Marty swaggered toward her from the bar. A wide proud and possessive grin tugged at his lips and his eyes were wide with obvious arousal; this was his woman and he made sure everyone knew it. The pool player soon got the message, had a quick grope of the woman's thighs before turning away with raucous laughter, quite happy to get back to his game.

Marty eyed her lecherously and then took her by the arm, leading her back to the bar. She had other ideas and dragged him to the middle of the floor. Marty followed and leaned in close to whisper something sordid in her ear. She laughed loudly at his words before mouthing "You'll have to wait," and slowly licking her tongue over her top and then her bottom lip clearly approving of his suggestion.

Marty's eyes widened in anticipation and he raised his fingers to his mouth, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He dropped the cigarette to the ground, stubbed it out with his foot and grabbed the woman by the ass, pulling her toward him with force. Then he opened his mouth and blew out the smoke in her face, teasing his tongue out to her mouth. They necked openly on the makeshift dance floor in front of everyone as they began moving in time with the music, their bodies grinding against one another.

As the song ended, he pulled back from her, finished his beer and bent down to pick up her shoes as she languorously made her way back to the bar. She took a swig of the drink waiting for her there and sat down on the stool. She reached for the pack of Marlboro lying on the counter and lazily took one out.

Marty followed behind, dropped her shoes to the ground and motioned to the barman for another beer. The muted pictures of the local news on the wall-mounted television caught his eye and the wide grin left his lips as he stared in shock as a headshot of Sara flashed on the screen. "Turn the TV up, Chuck, will you?" he instructed loudly, his eyes glued to the flickering images on the TV set.

The woman looked up abruptly and turned her head toward the television set, her mouth immediately twisting into a furious scowl. The bartender set Marty's beer down on the counter and clicked the volume on.

"… _law enforcement agent Sara Sidle is still on. The CSI was subjected to a vicious attack at Desert Breeze Park last Saturday afternoon between 5.15 and 5.45 pm whilst out running with her dog. The Las Vegas Police Department are asking for witnesses to the assault, which happened in broad daylight, to come forward. _

"_It is believed the attacker used a dog catcher pole to restrain Miss Sidle's dog. The boxer who was unharmed in the attack broke free and raised the alarm. __Miss Sidle who remains in critical condition in Desert Palm's intensive care unit after major brain surgery has yet to regain consciousness._

"_If you were at the park on Saturday afternoon and noticed something unusual or__ someone behaving suspiciously,__ please contact the Las Vegas Police Department with any details, however small, on 702-555-0192."_

"I thought you said she was dead," the woman murmured under her breath, her eyes glued to the TV screen. She reached for the Zippo lighter and fumbled to open it. Marty took the lighter from her and flicked it. Her hands were shaking as she brought the cigarette to her lips and then to the flame. Lighting up, she closed her eyes, taking a long drag. "_You_ told me she was fucking dead." She picked a tiny fleck of tobacco stuck to the lipstick in the corner of her mouth. "You showed me a fucking picture of the dying bitch."

Marty was stunned with shock. "Shit, you think the cops are on to us?"

"Keep your fucking voice down, Marty," the woman gritted. She obliterated the remainder of the cigarette into the ashtray and blew out the smoke through her nose as she got to her feet. "This changes everything," she mumbled to herself. "Get my shoes. We're going home."

* * *

Tbc.


	25. Chapter 25

The white Thunderbird reached the northern outskirts of Vegas in good time. Marty was slowing down as he approached the turn off Highway 95 toward North Vegas when his companion put her hand on his arm stopping him. "Keep going," she said. "And take the exit onto the I-15, will you, Angel?"

Marty cancelled the turn signal and put his foot down. "Why? Where are we headed? I thought you said you wanted to go home."

"I did. I just want to make a quick stop first."

Marty's brow rose in surprise. "You sure? Someone might see or recognise you."

"I'll be careful. I just want to see for myself, Marty. I need to make sure."

Marty nodded and carried on down Highway 95 another mile or so until the southbound turn-off onto the I-15.

"Besides, they're not looking for me, are they, sugar?" she added with a smile as she stroked her painted fingernails to his cheek. "I'll be fine."

Marty suppressed a shiver of excitement at the touch but kept his eyes on the road. The woman flipped the sun visor down and used the mirror to check her face. By the time she had finished touching up her hair and make up Marty was pulling up outside Desert Palm.

"Wait for me round the corner," she told him slipping on her shoes. "I won't be five minutes."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to inquire about dearest Sara's health," she said breezily. "I'll find out if it's as bad as they said on the news; see if there's a guard at the door; that sort of things." She opened the car door.

"Don't do anything stupid, okay?" Marty said.

She reached for her purse and paused. Leaning across toward him, she touched a gentle hand to his cheek. "You're a good boy, Marty but you worry too much. I'll see you in five."

* * *

The door to Sara's hospital room opened slowly. A woman slipped in, walking on her tiptoes to stop her heels from clicking, and carefully shut the door after her. She smiled and approached the end of the bed a little hesitantly, astonished at the fact that she had gained access so easily.

"Hello, Sara," she whispered warmly. "Grissom really needs to take better care of you; anybody can walk in off the street and do you harm." She picked up Sara's medical chart from its slot at the end of the bed and studied it and the EEG reading with interest. She smiled knowingly as she looked up toward Sara. "Ah, so they're keeping you alive, are they? Dear old Grissom's not ready to let you go yet, is he?"

She noiselessly walked round the bed and brushed her fingers over the life-support machine, a dreamy smile on her face. Her hand followed the curve of the breathing tube all the way to the mask covering Sara's mouth, hovering there a moment. "You're so helpless and defenceless now," she said. "So beautiful as you sleep." She gently stroked her hand to Sara's face and smiled as she tucked a strand of hair back under the thick white bandage around Sara's head. "Life is so ephemeral, sweetness, as is happiness. And like me you know all about that now. But sadly _you_ can't feel pain anymore but _he_ can." She smirked. "And he will for the rest of his life."

Her eyes suddenly lit up with a wicked thought. She set her purse down on the bed and from it, took out a small bottle of crimson red nail polish. She looked at Sara fondly as she slowly unscrewed the top. "Revenge," she told her quietly, "is what kept me going while I was inside. I saw how he looked at you then, the worry, the concern, and the love in his eyes. I knew. I knew without a shadow of a doubt how he felt about you."

She lifted Sara's right hand and began painting the nail on her index finger. "You are the most important person in his life – in his world. You are his Achilles' heel. Like Adam is to me," she continued with a wistful smile. Then her face hardened as she put the nail varnish away. She reached up and with a practised hand readjusted the flow of IV fluid dripping into Sara's veins, amending angrily, "Like he was to me."

She stopped talking and listened, mesmerised by the continual whoosh and clunck sound of the ventilator breathing life into Sara. One move to end it all; that's all it would take. She ran her hand over the plug thinking how so very simple it would be to end Sara's life now. The soft sound of hushed voices passing along in the corridor broke the trance and she turned her head toward the door suddenly on edge. "Now's not your time though, dearest Sara," she said, "but it will come soon. And I will make sure he's there to watch as I take both of you down with me."

* * *

Catherine looked up with a start when she heard the quick knock on the office door. She was seated at Grissom's desk, her glasses perched at the end of her nose as she read over the extensive notes he had made about Sara's case. She slipped those off and wiped a weary hand over her face as she set the file down, getting to her feet to unlock the door. She opened the door a small crack, her lips forming into a thin line, not quite managing a smile on seeing Nick and Warrick stood there with matching puzzled, questioning faces. She quickly scanned her gaze up and down the corridor before nodding them in.

"What's with all the secrecy?" Warrick asked lightly as he entered the room. Almost straightaway he let out a loud gasp and a curse as he took in the state of Grissom's office. Nick's eyes widened slightly at the display but he didn't seem overly shocked by what he saw.

"This is creepy, man, even for Grissom," Warrick whispered, aghast, his eyes wide with incredulity as they scanned the walls.

"Lock the door, Nick, will you?" Catherine bid quietly. Then to Warrick, she replied, "Creepy is certainly one way of putting it." She sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is really weirding me out."

"It's a little obsessive maybe," Nick argued, "but when have we ever known Grissom to be anything else?"

"Oh, this is not obsessive, Nick. This is fanatical, almost sick. Something's not right with him-"

Warrick let out a long breath, cutting Catherine's tirade short. "I was with him not long ago. He told me he was fine. He looked sad, thoughtful and resigned after what happened at the hospital but he told me not to worry, that he was fine."

"When was that?" Catherine asked.

"A couple of hours ago? Three maybe? I found him at the top of the Strat Tower riding coasters. He was just…being Grissom. I figured that was normal behaviour for him, you know? in the circumstance."

Catherine nodded. "And afterwards?"

Warrick's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "We had a chat. He walked me back to my car. Said he was going to go play cards. Clear his head a little. He looked and sounded absolutely calm, composed…normal, so I left him to it."

"_Cards_?" Catherine repeated with a disbelieving snort. "And you bought that? He knew exactly how to get rid of you, Warrick and you fell for it, hook, line and sinker."

Warrick smacked himself on the head, smiling in realisation. "He played me, didn't he?" He was shaking his head in disbelief.

Catherine nodded slowly. "Yep. Like the proverbial fool." She reached out her hand to Warrick's shoulder. "If it's any consolation, I think he's been playing us all. Why do you think he insisted on giving me the night off last night?" She swept her hand over the photographs on the wall and then gave a small laugh, adding, "Brass too, it would seem. Grissom told him Stevie had escaped and that's why they couldn't come in here when he paid him a visit in the early hours." Warrick and Nick shared a small chuckle but cast a worried glance toward the terrarium anyway. "Brass is on his way over now."

"How did you manage to get in here then?" Warrick asked.

Catherine shrugged, looking mildly contrite. "I have a key but he doesn't know, so…keep it to yourselves, alright? Not that it matters much anymore anyway."

"Why? What do you think he's got in mind?" Warrick asked in a gasp, the worry evident in his tone.

Catherine sighed and moved to stand next to Nick, who was intently studying the photographs on display. "I don't know," she replied after a moment.

Warrick reached for the printout of the two men from the CCTV camera footage, pulled it down and examined it closely. "You don't think he could be taking the law into his own hands, do you?" he asked, shaking his head, not believing his own words. "Nah, not Griss," he added immediately in answer to his own question. "The man does everything by the book. Never strays. Never tries to manipulate evidence to fit an agenda. He's probably putting together a file so tight that Sara's attackers will never see the light of day when we get them."

"I don't know, Warrick. Something feels off," Catherine said. "This isn't _any_ agenda. This is Sara we're talking about. _Sara._ Look at the compulsive way he arranged the photos on these walls, look at these notes," she added motioning toward the thick open case file on the desk, "the detail is terrifying. He's checked and double-checked everything we collected, the results of every single test we carried out. It would have taken him hours on his own…" Catherine stopped talking abruptly and turned her frown toward Nick. "You're keeping very quiet, Nick. Did you know about this?" she asked, her voice rising suspiciously. "Because I can tell you right now that if you know what he's up to, now's the time to speak up, not cover for him. The consequences if he goes ahead with…a personal vendetta would be catastrophic – for him and this lab. For _all_ of us."

Nick remained quiet, looking down to his feet.

"Nick! If you know something, please speak up. Covering up for him isn't going to help. Not when he winds up in jail."

"It won't get to that."

Stunned by Nick's attitude, Catherine exclaimed, "Nick, look at all this! He's a loose canon."

Nick shrugged, looked up Catherine in the eye and let out a short breath. "I didn't know about any of this, all right? I swear. He didn't share any of it with me. It's just…that look when he came to see me this morning at the end of shift…it lasted just a flitting second but I saw it in his eyes. He's angry, Catherine and he doesn't know how to cope with it or where to take out his frustrations. This is just his way of being in control of the situation."

Catherine's gaze was hard. "We got to find him. We got to stop him before he destroys his life, before he destroys his career and this lab. Doesn't he care anymore? Has he even stopped to think about the rest of us, about what this will do to the lab and all the hundred of open cases we're handling at the moment? Everything would be put into question-"

"Catherine, calm down," Nick said calmly. "The lab's not the be all and end all of everything. Besides, we don't know he's done anything yet. We don't know he's _going_ to do anything either. Have you tried calling him?"

"Have I hell! All I get is his freaking voicemail!"

Warrick raised a placating hand. "Taking it out on Nick won't help. This isn't his fault. If Grissom's up to something, he's going to be clever about it. Let's think about this a little before we jump the gun. What does Griss know that we don't?"

* * *

Grissom was slowly driving down Santa Clarita Avenue. He was peering through the windshield of his car scanning the houses across the road to his left, looking for number154. He slowed down and smiled, his eyes focusing on a single white one-storey shabby-looking dwelling. He pulled up the dark Toyota sedan a little farther up the road and cut the engine, waiting for his heartbeat to quieten.

His breathing measured, he reached over to the glove compartment and took out the gun and magazine. A Beretta Cougar; not his weapon of choice but it would do the job just fine. He didn't intent using it; it was simply a precaution. Of course, it might work as intimidation too. He weighed the gun in his hand, liking the feel of it. He studied it closely for a moment and smacked the magazine into place before securing it in his side pocket.

He checked the time on his cell, 4.29 pm, before switching it off, ignoring the message on the screen alerting him to six missed calls. He didn't need to check to know the calls were from Catherine - or Brass, he mused. _Jeopardy!_ would come on soon; it was time to get moving. So whatever Catherine and Brass wanted would have to wait.

Grissom looked up and down the road waiting for a car to pass before getting out, headed to the house. The lack of a white Ford Thunderbird on the drive was disconcerting but not alarming. "Nobody's home," he said to himself. He pursed his face in thought, quickly moving to plan B. "We'll try the back door. See if we can take a quick peek inside anyway."

He scanned his gaze over the rest of the street and the surrounding houses with care. All looked calm and deserted. Without making a sound, he walked round to the back of the house and tried the back door handle. It turned and the door opened a crack. Grissom gave himself a little smile. Someone _was_ home.

He quickly checked over his shoulder again, unrolled the ski mask he was wearing as a hat over his face and entered the house through the messy back room. Straightaway, the distant sound of a shower running alerted his senses and his hand moved to the gun in his pocket, hovering there in readiness.

Stealth-like he swiftly checked all the open rooms. At first glance, no one else appeared to be around. He headed back to the kitchen where he performed a cursory search, looking for anything suggesting he had the correct location. Grissom's eyes instantly zoomed in on the full ashtray lying by the sink, the red-tipped little soldiers standing to attention speaking volumes, and he smiled. Bingo.

_Call Brass, please. Come back with a warrant. Wendy can get DNA off the cigarette butts._

He took a breath before moving to the lounge. That's when he immediately saw the white iPod on the coffee table. He paused, his heartbeat quickening at the find. He picked up the device with his gloved hand and switched it on before scrolling down the list of albums and artists. He took a gasp as he recognised Sara's entire back catalogue plus a few extra pieces he had added for her over the months as well as some newer stuff he could only assume had been added since the attack.

_Gil, please, I beg you. Do this by the book. Call Brass. None of what you find will be admissible if they find you here, you know that._

The shower stopped, curtailing his search.

Grissom quickly glanced over his shoulder and coolly replaced the iPod back on the coffee table the way he had found it. He reached into the side pocket of his black coat for the gun. His fingers wrapped around the hard metal grip with assurance and he slipped the gun out. He pulled the slide back as noiselessly as he could and slowly moved out of the lounge and down the corridor toward the bathroom, both hands holding the gun steady in front of him, at the ready.

All his senses were in high alert and he seemed to glide gracefully on his tiptoes, keeping his back as close to the walls as possible. He felt cool, calm and composed, the adrenaline fuelling his movement keeping him vigilant but steady. He soon reached the outside of the bathroom, splaying himself flat against the wall. The Beretta felt snug in his hand, reassuring and he brought it up level with his face, ready to pounce.

_There's still time. Leave before it's too late. Please, I don't like this._

Just as he was about to turn the handle, the door opened from the other side and Grissom jerked back against the wall. A young male emerged naked and whistling as he briskly towelled his head dry. Grissom slowly extended his right arm, bringing to Beretta to the boy's face. The latter flinched in surprise, freezing in his movement, his eyes widening with fear.

"Martin?" Grissom inquired quietly. "Martin Wallis? I've been looking for you."

* * *

Tbc.


	26. Chapter 26

"What does he know that we don't?" Warrick asked again wishing the tension between his colleagues would dissipate.

Nick let out a short breath, and nodding his head at Warrick's words broke eye contact with Catherine. He pursed his face in thought and then said, "From the break-in at their townhouse we're waiting on trace results from the lipstick and DNA results on the semen." He paused. "DNA from the crime scene at the park too, I think. Has Wendy cleared her backlog yet?"

Catherine exhaled a lengthy breath. "I don't know, do I? He kept me away last night, didn't he?"

Warrick smiled at Catherine comfortingly. "If Grissom knows something it's got to be in here somewhere," he reasoned, nodding toward the file. "Everything else is."

Catherine was shaking her head. "Nope. There's nothing in that file. I checked and double checked."

"Let's think about it," Warrick insisted. "Where would Griss hide stuff?"

"In plain sight," Nick and Catherine replied in unison.

"Exactely. Grissom's drummed it into us often enough," Warrick added with a shake of his head.

Catherine smiled at Warrick grateful for his support and feeling calmer, turned round on her heels, her face pursed in thought as she scanned Grissom's office.

"Wendy wouldn't deliberately have hidden the results even to protect Grissom," Nick said.

"Maybe Grissom didn't give her a choice," Catherine argued.

"Nick's right," Warrick said. "If Griss is up to something, he's doing it alone. He wouldn't implicate Wendy or anyone else. He's got too much integrity."

Catherine nodded her agreement and then checked her watch. "She should be in soon-"

"She's got the night off," said Nick. "She's got tickets to see Celine, remember?"

Catherine nodded, recalling how much Wendy had been looking forward to the concert and then sighed. "Okay. Nick, you go and pull up the file on the townhouse break-in. See if the DNA results are in there. See what Wendy's processed already and what's still pending." To Nick's arched brow she added, "It's worth a shot."

Nick nodded and rushed out of the office. Meanwhile, Catherine gave Grissom's cell another try while Warrick silently examined the photographs of Sara's injuries, his heartache and sorrow clearly visible on his face.

Catherine let out a frustrating growl as her call went straight to voicemail, causing Warrick to turn toward her with concern. "Grissom, it's me. Again. Please, get in touch. Don't do anything stupid." Her voice quavered slightly and she cleared her throat. Warrick reached out a hand to her shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. "We're getting closer," she went on with a small grateful smile directed at Warrick. "I swear to you, we _will_ find them and bring them to justice but please don't do anything on your own; don't do anything rash. Please," she added pleadingly, "call me back."

"Don't you think you're jumping the gun a little," Warrick asked calmly.

Catherine slipped the phone in her pocket and looked up toward Warrick with dread in her eyes. She shook her head. "I have a terrible feeling about this, Rick. I think we might already be too late."

Warrick was reaching over to wipe a tear from the corner of Catherine's eye when the door opened hastily. He pulled back self-consciously turning toward the door as Nick barged in waving a memo sheet in his hand.

"The semen on the bed came back to a Martin Wallis from Reno," the texan said, slightly breathlessly and smiling. "I pulled up his DMV records and got an address here in North Vegas." He stopped long enough to catch his breath. "And it matches the DNA from a cigarette butt I recovered at the park. It's all there in the file."

"Okay, let's go pay Martin Wallis a visit," Catherine exclaimed with renewed hope and enthusiasm.

"Cath, wait!" Warrick said. "We all agree Griss knows about this, right? That Wendy told him?" Catherine and Nick both nodded their heads. "Why didn't he inform PD? Get an arrest warrant and haul this...Martin Wallis in for questioning? You said it yourself; Brass came here but it looks like Grissom kept the info to himself. Why would he do that?"

"Because he's lost his mind and he's not thinking straight?"

"I don't think so; he's too smart for that. Before we go out all guns blazing, let's think about this for a moment. Griss's sitting on that evidence, why?"

Catherine pondered Warrick's words and then smiled in realisation. "Of course, he's after the woman. He's been adamant from the start, insisting that a woman's behind the attack on Sara." She paused. "The break-in at the townhouse makes it personal so if he's correct in his assumptions then this woman knew about their relationship and targeted Sara at the park on purpose and to get to Grissom." She motioned with her head toward one of the photograph Grissom had pinned on the portable screens. "The message on the mirror attests to that. So it's got to be someone from their past."

"And you think he's worked out who yet?" Warrick asked.

"No. We'd know if he had," Catherine replied.

"What, like from an old case?" Nick wondered. "A woman Grissom and Sara help put behind bars?"

Catherine shrugged. "Maybe, she could be pulling strings from inside."

Nick was shaking his head at Catherine's words. "She can't be. She's got to be out there if she wrote that message."

"Bar the handwriting – tenuous at best – we have no concrete evidence linking a woman to _any_ of these crimes though, only Grissom's gut feeling," Warrick argued.

"I know," Catherine whispered.

"I'm inclined to believe Grissom though," Nick said. "I don't think he'd be that head bent on destroying his career and his life if he was barking off the wrong tree."

Staring at the photograph of the mirror, Warrick nodded his head in agreement. "_How does it feel Mr Grissom, to lose what you love the most in your life?_" he read aloud, taking a breath. "Judging by that, I'm thinking she's more likely seeking revenge from a crime committed against someone she loved and lost and she's holding Grissom and/or Sara personally responsible."

Catherine was shaking her head in disbelief. "Well, if that's the case, she picked on the wrong man. In his present state of mind, there's no telling what he's capable of."

"Okay. So what do we do? Do we sit on this too?" Warrick asked. "Wait till Grissom gets here for shift tonight to ask him about it?"

"No," Nick answered firmly, surprising both Catherine and Warrick with the vehemence of his reply. "I have a bad feeling about this. I promised Sara we'd look after him, that we'd have his back. If we're right and he goes ahead with his vendetta there's nothing we can do for him then. They'll throw away the key. We got to find and stop him before it's too late."

Catherine nodded. "Okay. You two go get your stuff. I'll call Brass on our way; tell us to meet us there. We'll worry about a warrant later."

* * *

"Martin?" Grissom inquired quietly, holding the gun to the man's face. "Martin Wallis? I've been looking for you."

The male swallowed the tightness in his throat. "How did you get in here?" he asked nervously, slowly lowering his hands to his side.

Grissom pressed the weapon harder against the male's temple and said, "Keep your hands where I can see them." The latter stiffened and spread his hands wide in front of him. "Are you Martin Wallis?" the CSI repeated calmly but firmly, enunciating each word clearly.

"No."

Grissom noticed the soaked band-aid on the boy's right ear. "His brother, maybe?" he said. The boy tensed up in an almost imperceptible but very revelatory manner. "James, is it? Or, would you prefer I called you Jimmy? Would that make you feel less…edgy, more at home?" Grissom paused, smiling coldly at Jimmy's silence. "Good," he said, "I was looking for you too. Come on, you know the drill. Drop the towel to the ground, put your hands on your head and go to the lounge."

Jimmy hesitated for a split second but a sharp jab of the gun into his side soon made up his mind and he did as he was told, heading for the lounge. "Can I put some pants on?" he grumbled self-consciously.

"Sit in the chair and shut up." Grissom reached for a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and tossed them on Jimmy's lap. "Put these on."

The boy looked up toward Grissom with puzzlement but a wave of the gun toward the cuffs persuaded him into compliance. "Who are you?" he asked looking at Grissom's attire and ski mask covered face with dread. "What do you want to do with me?"

Grissom watched as Jimmy secured the handcuffs tightly around each wrist. "Never mind who I am; it's not important. Did you think I wouldn't find you out?"

Jimmy lowered his cuffed hands over his privates self-consciously before looking up with growing fear and confusion.

Grissom gave a cold chuckle at the boy's obvious alarm. He perched on the couch armrest across from Jimmy and pointed the gun toward the ground. "I know what you and your brother did. And one way or another you're both going to pay for it but first I need to know who you did it for."

Flustered, Jimmy swallowed. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Grissom pursed his lips into a tight line. "Nice try but I don't believe you. Let me refresh your memory." Jimmy's left leg began to jerk in involuntary spasms. "You see this iPod here?" Grissom continued with a nod toward the coffee table. "It doesn't belong to you. You stole it. When you assaulted Sara and left her for dead in that park, you sealed your own fate." Jimmy remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the blank TV screen beyond Grissom. The latter stood up moving in Jimmy's eye line. "Who is she?" he demanded to know, an edge to his voice. "Who is the woman you and your brother attacked Sara for?"

Jimmy's leg spasms quickened. "You got the wrong house," he replied nervously.

Grissom snorted in disbelief. "Who is she?" he gritted through clenched teeth, moving closer to Jimmy's face. "ANSWER ME."

Jimmy flinched, shifting on the seat and licking his dry lips anxiously. "I don't know what you're talking about, man," he answered, his resolve weakening slightly. "It's only me and my brother who live here. I don't know nothing about no woman."

Grissom shook his head slowly. "The evidence tells me otherwise." Jimmy remained silent and Grissom waited a little, watching as Jimmy began to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm talking about the woman whose perfume still lingers in this very room; the woman whose cigarettes butts are in the ashtray in the kitchen." He leaned over calmly and smiled as he swiped his thumb harshly over the corner of Jimmy's mouth. "The woman whose lipstick you're still wearing despite your shower." He snorted as Jimmy brought his cuffed hands up to wipe his mouth. "You still don't know who I'm talking about now?"

Jimmy's chest was heaving under the exertion of keeping his composure.

"Did you meet her in Reno?" Grissom insisted.

The boy tensed up at the mention of Reno. "I don't know what you're talking about." The tone was all wrong now, all sulky and pouting.

Grissom smirked. "Is she staying in this house?" To Jimmy's silence, he added, "Should I wait for her to return so we can get properly acquainted? She seems to know all about me already."

Jimmy looked up abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he realised who this masked man was. Then he stared defiantly into Grissom's eyes, his lips pursing into a slow wicked smile, his brow arching challengingly.

"Oh," Grissom gasped overdramatically. He raised the gun and aimed it toward Jimmy's chest. "The penny's dropped, has it? Good. Now you can stop the pretence and tell me what I want to know. I haven't got all night."

But Grissom, in revealing his identity, had made a dreadful miscalculation.

"You're not as smart as you think you are if you haven't figured out who she is yet," Jimmy retorted suddenly finding his voice. The small sneer on his lips was one of pride.

"Oh, I know who she is alright and I was hoping I was wrong," Grissom continued. He took a deep fraught breath. "Where is she? Where can I find her? She shouldn't have picked on her own daughter," he snapped angrily.

Jimmy's smile disappeared abruptly to be replaced by a look of confused astonishment.

Grissom was beginning to feel hot under the collar and he pulled at the neck of the ski mask as he began pacing the room in agitation. Then without notice, he bent over Jimmy, waving the gun about in the boy's face. "I'll ask you _one _last time," he snapped impatiently. "WHERE IS LAURA?"

The sudden terror in Jimmy's eyes was palpable. "I swear I don't know who you're talking about," he cried out heatedly. He lifted his bound hands up to shield his face, worried that Grissom was going to strike him.

"TELL ME WHERE LAURA IS!" Grissom shouted in Jimmy's face, finally snapping.

"I don't know no Laura. I swear. You got to believe me!" the boy shouted back in a fearful and frantic plea, for the first time sounding genuine.

Grissom paused in frustration. Feeling the heat, he wiped the back of his hand over his face and frowned, suddenly assailed with overwhelming doubts. "What about Sara? The girl you attacked at the park?" he asked a little uncertainly. Then he leaned over menacingly causing Jimmy to cower in fright, before forcefully pulling the band-aid off the boy's ear. Jimmy let out a sharp squeal of pain. "She took a fucking piece of you with her to the hospital, you dumb scum. Are you going to deny knowing her too?"

Jimmy averted his gaze to the ground, his leg spasms increasing in intensity. He kept his mouth resolutely shut.

Grissom was struggling to keep in control of the situation and of his emotion. "You see, your body's talking to me," he began as he paced the floor in front of the chair. "Your body's telling me that I got the right house and I got the right man. Generally, I'm not a violent man, Jimmy and I'm a patient one; I wait. I wait until I have all the facts. I wait until I have absolutely no doubt that what I know is correct." He shrugged. "And although I know for a fact that _you_ attacked Sara, at this moment in time you're not who I'm interested in. You're just a means to an end. You're expendable." Grissom motioned to the gun as he let his words sink, his face twisting into an evil, bitter grin. Despite the mask covering said grin Grissom's eyes conveyed the same chilling message.

Jimmy was sweating, fat droplets of sweat slowly trickling down the side of his face. "You don't scare me with your empty threats," he said bravely. "The bitch got what she deserved."

_Gil, ignore him. He's bluffing with you. He's playing you at your own game._

Grissom stopped pacing abruptly. He turned on Jimmy, his eyes widening with fury. "What did you say?" he gritted in the boy's face. "What did you call her?"

The fear rather than curb it unleashed Jimmy's tongue, unnerving the CSI. "J's never been right since. Part of her died that day and it's all that bitch's fault."

Grissom's fury was oozing out of his every pore. "Shut up."

But Jimmy squared up his shoulders aggressively. The older man was losing his cool and he would soon be able to take advantage. "You said you wanted me to talk. You don't like what you're hearing?"

_Grissom, listen to me. He's not going to tell you want you want to know. I beg you, walk away. Leave now. _

You could feel the frustrated rage burning out of Grissom as he spoke, see it in his eyes. He blinked a few times trying to clear his vision. "I said SHUT UP!"

_You can come back later with a warrant. Do it properly. You'll find her. I know you will._

Jimmy and Sara's voices seemed to be echoing as one in Grissom's head. Feeling flushed and light-headed, he lost concentration, looking down as he rubbed his face. He was losing it and he knew it.

Taking advantage of Grissom's distraction, Jimmy took his chance. He pushed up to his feet, raising his bound hands up in the air to overpower the older man. But Grissom was quick to react. He blocked Jimmy's blow with his arm and used the weight of his body to slam into Jimmy, sending him crashing back down onto the chair. In one fluid move he struck him on the side of the head with the grip of the gun, his left hand grabbing him by the neck in a choke hold and pushing against the back of the seat.

Jimmy stopped struggling and Grissom straightened up, watching as blood began to trickle down the side of boy's face. He was seeing red, blue angry veins protruding menacingly on his neck as he fought to catch his breath. Staring the boy square in the eyes he slowly raised the gun to his face.

"Try that again," he panted in a hoarse whisper, "and I'll put two between your eyes."

_Gil, no! He's just a kid. Call Jim, please, it's not too late._

Jimmy had nothing to lose by this point and his lips curled into a nervous smile. "You're the filth; you won't do it."

At that moment in time, all Grissom saw in Jimmy was the man who had destroyed his life; the sole cause of his utter misery and heartbreak, of his madness and ultimately of his self-destruction. All he saw was Sara's beautiful body bloodied and battered lying in the bushes, left for dead.

_Gil, please no. He's not worth it. He's not worth your freedom, your life. _

His actions fuelled with the unshakable belief that Sara needed avenging, he aimed the gun square in the middle of Jimmy's forehead. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed the lump in his throat. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he realised what he was about to do. Yet, already past the point of no return he calmly reopened his eyes and saw his own built-up fury reflected in Jimmy's gaze turn to devastating fear as the boy realised he had pushed too far.

_Gil, please, this isn't the way. This isn't you. You've made your point. Please, leave._

Still holding Jimmy by the throat, Grissom glanced at the gun quavering in small tremors in his right hand. He loosened his grip on the gun and instead slowly increased the pressure on Jimmy's neck with his left hand. The boy flayed helplessly and started choking, looking beyond terrified. Then he stopped and glanced down toward his crotch as he felt the warmth spreading between his legs. His eyes blurred with tears as he brought them up to Grissom.

"Still not willing to talk?" Grissom asked coldly.

_Gil, stop please. Do it for me. I beg you. Don't do this._

"I love her more than my life," Jimmy gasped. "She means everything." He stared Grissom square in the eye. "Fuck you."

_Gil, no…_

Grissom closed his eyes, squeezing his fingers around the boy's throat until the voices in his head stopped.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: As you can see I need guidance, I'm totally out of control and so is Grissom. I would love to hear from you. I would love for you to share your good and bad thoughts. So please leave a review; let me know if you're reading still...after all this. Can it get any worse for our poor hero? Sadly, the answer is...we'll see. Maybe Cath and the team can get there in time.


	27. Chapter 27

On her tiptoes and with her hands cupped around her face and against the window pane, Catherine was craning her neck taking a quick peek inside 154 Santa Clarita Avenue. She never heard Warrick quietly walk up to her and place a gentle hand on her shoulder. Startled, she snapping her head round, bringing her hand to her heart in clear relief that Warrick was standing there and not Martin Wallis.

"Damn, Warrick," she hissed. "You scared me." To Warrick's slight smile and murmured apology, she cleared her throat and asked, "Anything round the back of the house?"

"Nothing," he replied with a shake of the head. "Nick's keeping an eye on the back door in case. But there's no car, no signs of forced entry or disturbance, nothing untoward at the back at all." He took a few steps toward the front door. "Are we going in or what?"

Catherine sighed. "I don't know. The house looks empty. I couldn't see anything through the windows and no one's answering the front door."

"Grissom could be lying there injured or unconscious or worse," Warrick argued.

"Still. We can't run the risk that he's not and jeopardise this whole investigation," Catherine replied. "I'd rather not go in without a warrant or due cause. Maybe you were right. Maybe Grissom's sitting on this evidence after all. He would never forgive me if a conviction were to be thrown out of court because we went in without a warrant."

Warrick nodded, grudgingly accepting Catherine's decision.

"Besides," she added, "There's no evidence that he's even been here."

"Would we know if he had?"

Catherine lifted a shoulder in a weary shrug. "Probably not." She paused, glancing at her watch wondering what was taking Brass so long. "Go tell Nick not to try anything stupid himself. He must be wondering why nothing's happening."

Warrick turned on his heels heading out back when the wailing sound of police sirens getting nearer stopped him in his tracks. He raised his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the setting sun, his brow rising quizzically as Brass's Taurus came to a halt in a squeal of tyres behind the crime lab's Denali. Clearly harassed and stressed, the police captain jumped out of the car, making quick strides toward the house.

Catherine met him half-way, worry etched on her face. "You got news from Grissom?" she asked with hope.

Brass shook his head, glancing at Warrick ambling back toward them. "Nah, nothing."

"Where's the fire then?" Warrick asked trying to diffuse the tension.

Brass wiped the sweat from his brow. "I got delayed at the courthouse waiting for the judge to sign the warrants," he said disparagingly. "And then to top it all, on my way over, I get a call from dispatch. They got an anonymous tip-off of a disturbance and person needing assistance at this location."

"All's quiet now," Warrick said, falling into steps with Catherine and the detective. "Are you sure it's not bogus?"

Brass shrugged. "Back-up and EMT's are on their way over anyway."

"I'm surprised _anybody_ bothered to call in a disturbance," Catherine opined, sharing a knowing look with Brass. "You'd think it would be a common occurrence in a neighbourhood like this one."

Brass shrugged. He stared at the CSI meaningfully, nodding his head in reply to her silent question. Reaching the front door, he motioned with his arm for Catherine and Warrick to stand back and gave a few loud bangs with his fist on the door. "LVPD, we got a call reporting a disturbance. Is everything alright?" There was no reply. "Open up, please," Brass tried again, "LVPD."

Catherine shook her head. "We've heard nothing since we've been here, Jim. I don't think anybody's home."

Brass nodded his head letting out a breath. He looked over his shoulder, acknowledging the back-up unit that had just arrived. He banged on the door again calling out, "Captain Brass, LVPD. Is anyone home?" he waited a beat. When he heard no answer, he turned to his officers saying, "You, go round the back and wait for my go. Daniels, you're with me. We're going in."

He was reaching for the gun holstered on his hip while motioning with his hand for Catherine and Warrick to stand back when his cell rang. "What now!" he muttered impatiently.

"Could be Grissom," Catherine remarked quietly, rejoining his side.

"Stand back Catherine," he said, pursing his face in doubt at the CSI's suggestion. And yet, hoping it was indeed Grissom he reached into his suit pocket, pulling out his cell. "Dispatch," he told the CSI's before turning away to take the call. "Captain Brass," he answered briskly.

"Captain Brass, I have Officer Davies on the line. There's been a security breach at Desert Palm. I'm going to put him on."

Brass let out a fraught breath, stealing a quick glance at Catherine before silently lifting his index finger at his officer instructing him to remain on his guards but to wait for him to enter the house. He moved away from the front door so as not to be overheard.

"Captain Brass? Sir, Davies here," came the wary voice of Officer Davies.

"Davies, what did dispatch mean by a security breach at the hospital? Has it got anything to do with Sara Sidle?"

"Yes, Sir," Davies replied. There was a sigh and a pause. "Someone managed to gain entry into Sara- CSI Sidle's room, Sir."

"What! How? When? Who?" Brass barked into his phone.

"I don't know, Sir. I didn't see anyone."

"How can you be sure someone went into her room?"

"Well, it doesn't look like anything got disturbed or any of the equipment tampered with but when the nurse went in for her rounds fifteen minutes ago-"

"Fifteen minutes ago?" Brass snapped. "Why did it take you so goddamn long to notify me?" Davies remained silent at the other end and Brass took a long calming breath. "What did the nurse find?" he asked a little quieter.

"She noticed…she noticed that…"

"Goddamnit Davies, spit it out!"

"Someone painted the nail on Sara's right index finger. The nurse noticed straightaway."

Brass scrunched his eyes shut, his head shaking in disbelief, wondering whether his day could get any worse. "What?" he said.

"Someone painted the nail-"

"I heard what you said," Brass snapped, his temper getting the better of him. "How did they manage to get into her room in the first place? You weren't supposed to leave your goddamn post at any time, Davies."

"I was gone two minutes tops, Sir," Davies protested quickly. "I told the nurses to keep an eye out but I ate a dodgy burger and-"

"Cut the crap, Davies. You disobeyed my direct orders and breached protocol. What were you thinking?" Brass was frantically pacing the front yard while Catherine looked on nervously. "How's Sara? Did they have time to do any harm to her?"

"Not that the doctors can tell, Sir. They're checking her over now but everything seems as it should. I'm very sorry Captain. I-"

"How long ago?" Brass cut in impatiently.

"Twenty five minutes? Half an hour at the most?"

Brass let out a terse breath. "Okay. I'm going to get a CSI on the way, see if we can lift some prints. Meanwhile you get in touch with Desert Palm's security team; ask them to pull out all CCTV footage around the ICU at that time."

"Already done, Sir. They'll notify us as soon as they get something."

"Good," Brass grumbled. "But this is far from finished, Davies. I'll expect a full report on my desk by tonight." Brass jabbed an angry finger on his cell, ending the call. He turned on his heels bumping into Catherine who was standing by anxiously. "I suppose you heard all that?" he told her, rubbing his face tiredly.

She nodded, watching him with dread in her eyes. "Warrick's already on his way over," she said. "Pritchard's taking him. I told him to call Greg in to help. What happened, Jim? How's Sara? Does Grissom know?"

"They think Sara's all right." He formed his lips into a thin smile. "As for the rest, your guess is as good as mine." He let out a breath and looked at his phone, contemplating calling Grissom to let him know. Then he glanced up at the house and put his phone away. He made eye contact with his officer while motioning with his head that they were going in. Reaching for his gun, he waved Catherine back. "The house's probably empty," he told her, "but you never know. I'm not taking any chances."

Catherine nodded her head in understanding and went to stand by Brass's car. An ambulance and a second squad car were just pulling up at the curb. It took less than a minute for Brass and his men to declare the house clear. Catherine took her cue and stepped in scanning her gaze warily around the house for signs of Grissom. Brass and Nick came to meet her in the corridor.

"I'm going to start in the kitchen," Nick told her, putting his gun away. "I found some cigarette butts in an ashtray. There's lipstick on them which would suggest a woman lives or has been to this house."

Catherine nodded her head and followed Brass into the lounge. The strong acrid smell of urine immediately alerted her senses and she stopped at the threshold. "Something's happened here, Jim," she said in a whisper.

The detective scanned his gaze over the room, nodding his head at Catherine's words. Then, his gun drawn, he took a few cautious steps in and swivelled the easy chair round.

Catherine's gasp was the only sound as they both stared at the chair. "We're too late, Jim. He's already been."

"We don't know that, Cath," Brass told her not very convincingly. He glanced up as some of his men walked past the door. He waited until they were out of earshot before telling Catherine, "Don't allude to Grissom again. We don't want him associated with any of this. Not if we can help it."

* * *

"Slow down, Marty," Joanne McKay said with obvious puzzlement. "What are these police cars doing here?"

Marty slowed the car down to a crawl, scanning his gaze up ahead. "Don't know," he muttered.

"Not so slow that you'll get us noticed, idiot," she snapped impatiently. "Cruise past to see which house they're at." Her hands were shaking as she nervously twisted the strap of her purse on her lap.

They were slowly nearing number 154 when Marty exclaimed, "Shit. They found us. Those bastards have found us."

Police cruisers made way to a couple of unmarked detective cars and finally to the crime lab's Denali and the ambulance. A couple of uniformed officers stood guard in the front yard, watching as the Thunderbird drove past.

"They got Jimmy," Joanne said with disbelief, staring at the house. "They got my boy." Tears filled her eyes but she didn't shed them. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the purse, her face hardening menacingly as she fought to control the rage threatening to burst out. Marty was slowing down the car, ready to pull up further down the road.

"Don't stop!" she yelled, turning to look over the back of her shoulder. "Do you want us caught?"

"But what about Jimmy?"

"There's nothing we can do for him now," she replied with sadness in her voice, her eyes steadfast on the house and ablaze with fury. "If you as much as laid a fucking finger on him, Grissom, I swear…" she spat, letting her threat trail off but it was clear revenge was on the card. "Your two to my one. Next time, I promise I won't miss."

"What do we do now?" Marty asked.

"Carry on driving; I'll think of something." She paused and let out a frustrated growl. "I wish I'd pull the fucking plug on that bitch there and then. I wish I'd done it when I had the chance."

"We've got to go into hiding, J," Marty said with worry. "We've got to go now. Jimmy'll talk. He's weak." Joanne was shaking her head and Marty added, "Let's go to Reno. No one'll think of looking for us there."

"No," Joanne replied. "We got to finish what _he_ started."

* * *

By the time Grissom got back to the townhouse, it was getting dark. He parked the Mercedes in its usual spot alongside Sara's and cut the engine, closing his eyes, unable to move. His mind was empty; Sara's voice stubbornly silent. All he could do was sit there, sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, shaking. He took deep calming breaths and reopened his eyes but the disgust and shame at what he had done wouldn't leave him, the bile churning up in his throat.

How could he have lost control like that? And more importantly how could he have left the scene of a crime and covered his tracks the way he had? He was no better than the people he helped put in jail.

When the shaking inside finally subsided he opened the glove compartment, retrieving the gun, which he put in his coat side pocket. He got out of the car as usual and walked up to the front door, giving the neighbouring houses a quick glance. He ripped the police tape sealing the house from intruders and after reaching for the brand-new house key in the back pocket of his jeans, unlocked the door.

He immediately noticed the red light blinking on the telephone answering machine. On instinct he pressed the replay button. The first two messages were hang-ups. The next two were from Catherine, asking him to call her back urgently – or words to that effect. The next one was from Brass – similar message to Catherine's, only, fewer words. He deleted those. The next one chilled him to the bone and was timed at 5.00 pm – almost two hours previously. He didn't need to hear it a second time for it to be irremediably etched into his brain.

"Sara's more beautiful now – an angel as she sleeps," the message said. The voice was female, gravelly, husky and unfamiliar. "I could have pulled the plug there and then…and maybe I should have. But then I thought to myself: wait a minute girl, why rob dear old Grissom of that joy? Maybe that's something he wants to do for himself." She'd laughed, her wicked laughter resonating deep within him. "It's not time yet though, is it? Are you trying to hang on to her for a little longer?" There was a short pause and Grissom could even make out the long suck on a cigarette through the phone. "She was your world, wasn't she?" she'd then said, exhaling the smoke as she laughed and ending the call.

Grissom stood by the phone a moment with his head in his hands, tears burning in his eyes as the message hauntingly played over and over in his head. The voice meant nothing to him but he knew now for certain that Sara's mother wasn't implicated. J was, whoever she was.

He growled in frustration, a long low fraught growl, and fell to his knees, crumpling upon himself and heaving for breath. After a while, he did what any reasonable man would do in his situation. He picked himself up, shuffled to the lounge and turned on his wall-mounted B&O sound system. Amy Lee's enchanting, melodic voice filled the room and he cranked the volume up as loud as he could bear it until the chilling voice in his head was drowned out.

He took the gun out of his pocket and stared at it disbelievingly for a long time. He ran his fingers over the grip and noticed a little dried blood encrusted in the ridges. He immediately wiped his thumb over it but the blood wouldn't come off. He pulled his sweater sleeve down, added a little spit on it before rubbing at it frantically, but in vain. Suddenly, Amy Lee's words halted his frenzied movement and he listened mesmerised by her sweet voice, his gaze taking a distant look.

"_Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies / So I don't know what's real and what's not, _

_Always confusing the thoughts in my head / So I can't trust myself anymore, _

_I'm dying again." _

Gun held limply in his hand, he reached into the cabinet below the stereo for a half-full bottle of scotch. He slowly twisted the cap off, carelessly dropping it to the ground and fell back against the wall, sliding down to the floor in a heap. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, each laboured breath catching in his throat painfully. Dispensing with the customary tumbler, he gulped a big mouthful of liquid amber, half of it spilling down the side of his mouth, and brought the barrel of the gun to rest against his cheek, its cold metal soothing and reassuring.

"_I'm going under / Drowning in you,_

_I'm falling for ever / I've got to break through." _

Listening to the rest of the song, he closed his eyes and drank some more. With each mouthful he gulped, he swallowed a little more of his pain and heartache as he tried to fill the void Sara's attack had created. At that moment, he thought about how easy it would be to end it all. He thought about J's chilling message and about the truth of her words; he would never be able to let Sara go. He thought about the silence in his head, the void in his life and in his heart. Without thinking, his fingers curled around the grip of the gun as he thought about pulling the trigger.

"I'm sorry, honey," he cried. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better man for you. I'm sorry for what I've done." He took another mouthful of scotch. "I know I let you down."

Tears were fast flowing down his cheeks and he clenched his eyes shut trying to curb their onslaught.

"Sara, please talk to me," he begged tearfully. "Please forgive me. I can't stand your silence; say something – anything. Shout at me. Scream at me. Yell at me but anything is better than this damn silence."

Amy Lee moved on to the next track, the words immediately striking another chord and filling him with bittersweet memories. This time Amy Lee's voice merged with Sara's as he remembered the countless times he had heard her sing these very lines in the past. He brought the bottle to his mouth and emptied it. Then, he leaned his head back against the wall and closing his eyes listened.

"_How can you see into my eyes like open doors / Leading you down into my core / __Where I've become so numb without a soul / My spirit sleeping somewhere cold_

_Until you find it there and lead it back home."_

"_Wake me up inside/ Wake me up inside / __Call my name and save me from the dark / Bid my blood to run before I come undone_

_Save me from the nothing I've become."_

"_Now that I know what I'm without / You can't just leave me_

_Breathe into me and make me real / __Bring me to life."_

"Sara…"

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: I hope it was clear that Joanne McKay left the message on Grissom's answering machine before knowing about the police raiding their house.

Lyrics to _Going Under_ and _Bring me to life_ belong to Amy Lee and Evanescence and are from the album titled, _Fallen _(2003). They seemed appropriate in the circumstance.

Leave a review, please. Maybe Sara can _slap_ him out of his stupor. ;-) Would Lady Heather be more suited to that role though? Or, maybe Joanne McKay will beat them to it…now, there's a thought. I'm sure she could teach Grissom a trick or two. Now, there's a thought. Yuck.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Maybe a tear or two will be shed…maybe. Prepare a hankie just in case.

* * *

Catherine nodded and took a few steps nearer staring at the chair incredulously. She swallowed the knot in her throat and said, "You agree the wet patch on the seat is urine?"

"Certainly smells like it," Brass replied gruffly, glad they were back on safer ground. "What do you make of the blood there?" he asked pointing toward the top of the chair.

Catherine shrugged and leaned nearer to take a better look, examining the blood drops closely. She reached in her pocket for some latex gloves which she slipped on before touching the tip of her finger to the blood. "It's fresh," she remarked, lifting her finger to show the detective. "The position of the blood spatter suggests a head wound but there's not enough blood for a high velocity blow such as a GSW or even expiration blood from repeated striking to the face."

Brass nodded his agreement while Catherine continued her close visual examination of the rest of the chair for blood or other trace. She caught sight of metal sticking out from between the armrest and seat cushion and gasped, catching Brass's eye as she pulled the handcuffs out a little. Brass nodded with a sigh, scanning his gaze around the lounge looking for evidence of a struggle. There was none.

"You think we're looking for a body?" Catherine asked the detective bleakly.

"Hard to tell," he replied, rubbing the back of his head. "We're not even sure we're looking at a crime scene yet, are we?"

"We did get a call reporting a disturbance _and_ a person needing assistance," Catherine reminded Brass, straightening up and pushing her hair back from her face with the back of her hand.

Brass nodded and cast a look toward the door, lowering his voice. "As well as a warrant for Martin Wallis's arrest, I managed to secure a search warrant for the property," he said. "So we forget about Grissom and what might or not have happened in here and concentrate on gathering evidence that'll help convict Wallis of the attack on Sara and find him and his two accomplices."

Catherine offered the detective a warm smile, nodding her head in agreement. Brass smiled back before narrowing his gaze toward the coffee table. He glanced at the CSI quizzically, jerking his head toward the iPod lying there. "Could be Sara's," he opined.

Catherine breathed out a despondent sigh. "I don't know, Jim. It's a bit of a stretch; they all look the same. Only Sara could tell us – or Grissom, maybe."

"You might get some prints off it," Brass added optimistically. To Catherine's small nod, he said, "Come on Catherine, this isn't like you. Don't think the worst until it happens." He gave her shoulder a comforting pat. "Let's search the house with a fine tooth comb and see what we come up with. With my flair and your talents we might get to this woman before you-know-who and save him from himself."

Catherine's lips twitched into a small, grateful smile. "You're right, Jim," she said. "I'm sorry. I lost sight of the whole picture for a moment. Nick's already started in the kitchen. I'm going to do a preliminary walkthrough of the rest of the house, see what I find and then start processing this room."

"You do that. Meanwhile, I'll try Grissom again."

Catherine turned on her heels and walked out of the lounge, headed down the corridor. Immediately, she frowned noticing the bath towel lying on the floor by the bathroom door and bent down to examine it. She picked it up, turning it over in her gloved hand, feeling cold moisture seep through the latex but finding no blood on it. She put the towel down as she had found it and still crouched down, looked up and all around her.

She noticed a little blood smudge on the underside of the door handle of the room next to the bathroom. The meditative frown on her face deepened as she got to her feet, an image of what might have happened beginning to form in her mind. She was about to push the door open wider when she heard Nick's loud whisper as he tried to get the officer guarding the back door's attention.

"Daniels," she heard Nick call again.

Catherine made her way to Nick in the kitchen at the same time as Officer Daniels did. Nick's brow was creased, his eyes narrowed as he stared out of the window toward the back yard. The daylight outside had faded to such a degree that you couldn't see clearly all the way to the bottom of the yard.

"What have you got Nicky?" Catherine asked joining his side.

Nick pointed toward a small tool shed. "I think I saw movement through the window of that shed. It could be a reflection but …" he let his words trail suggestively.

Daniels nodded his head in understanding already reaching for his gun as he quickly radioed his colleagues at the front of the house for back-up. He unhooked the flashlight from his belt while Nick and Catherine reached for their service weapon, following Daniels out of the back door.

Brass and another uniformed officer joined them in the back yard and they silently made their way to the shed. The police captain wasn't going to take any chances. He motioned for his men to spread out, weapons drawn and aimed toward the shed door. "LVPD," he yelled, "Come out of hiding with your hands on your head."

There was no response. He glanced at Nick questioningly, the latter shrugging back uncertainly. Brass gave pause, thinking about his next move. He gave a sigh and motioned that he was going to open the shed door and to give him cover. He counted to three with his fingers and yanked the door open, flashing the beam of his light inside and yelling, "LVPD! Come out with your hands up in the air!"

Brass wasn't quick enough getting out of sight. Out of the blue, Jimmy rose up from his hiding place inside the shed, brandishing a garden spade which he swung high over his shoulder, hitting Brass across the face with it. The detective was knocked back clear off his feet and he crashed onto the hard dirt ground, his gun flying out of his hand while frantic shouts of "Police, don't move!" echoed in the night.

Jimmy froze, dropping the spade. He registered a split second hesitation as he thought about picking up Brass's gun but deciding against it, made a run for it instead headed toward the bottom of the yard.

Catherine immediately put her weapon away, rushing to Brass's side. "Jim! Jim!" she called falling on her knees by his limp body. The detective was unresponsive, his face covered in fast-flowing blood. She turned toward the house, yelling from the top of her voice, "Officer down! We need the paramedics now!"

* * *

"What do you thing you're doing?" The tone was hard, cold and unforgiving.

Startled by the sharpness of Sara's voice, Grissom dropped the empty bottle of scotch to the ground, his eyes fluttering open uncertainly.

Sara gave a small disbelieving snort as she took in his flushed cheeks and bleary eyes, his slumped body propped up against the liquor cabinet and the stench of spilt booze and cold sweat. "Moping around self-piteously while drinking yourself stupid? Is that where you're looking for my attackers? At the bottom of that freaking bottle?"

Grissom's head seemed to roll downward of its own accord as he tried peering through small slits toward the bottle rolling away from him. "I'm…'kay," he murmured hoarsely.

Sara caught sight of the gun that had fallen under the cabinet, her eyes widening in fright. She swallowed, shaking her head. "Or are you trying to garner enough courage to pull the trigger and blow your brains out? Is that it?" She paused, waiting for an answer, but his lack of reaction unnerved her. "Don't you see?" she continued heatedly. "You're playing right into her hands. This is exactly what she wants you to do! She wants you to fall apart; she wants you to take the coward's way out and shoot a bullet into your head."

"No. Sara, I…wasn't…" he slurred, scrunching his eyes shut and wincing in pain. "I…thought about it…but I couldn't do it-leave you- behind- No."

She paused, drawing breath as she watched him, helpless and incoherent. "This isn't you, Gil! You don't take the easy way out; you don't drink your problems away; you face them head on." Her lips wobbled and she pinched them in anguish. Crouching down to his level she stared at him piteously for a moment, her heart breaking to see him so broken and lost, a shadow of his former self.

She sighed. "You're not this angry, bitter, cold, violent…and…and unfeeling man…," she continued gently. "That man before with that boy…that wasn't you!" She drew a shaky breath choking back a sob. "You're a good man, Gil. You're warm and caring, decent and thoughtful. You care! You don't threaten, hurt and terrorize people; you help save them!"

With great effort, Grissom raised his head up and stared bleary-eyed as he desperately tried to focus his gaze on Sara. Finding he couldn't, he moaned and groaned and brought a heavy hand up to wipe the blurriness from his eyes.

A tear fell down Sara's cheek. "I don't recognise you, Gil," she said in a small voice, calmer now. "What happened to the man I love so much? What happened to the man I look up to, admire and respect? Where's your fight gone?"

Grissom's eyes filled with tears and Sara's face softened immediately, her lips curving downward as she took in the sadness and fear but also the deep shame in his eyes. She reached out, framing his face in her hands. "Gil, it kills me to see you like this."

Grissom gave a gruff sort of snort at her choice of words as he squinted up to her through one eye. "I don't want you to see me like this," he mumbled, his voice hoarse and low. He tentatively reached up trembling fingers to her face but his hand fell limply before he could make contact. "I'm…okay."

"Oh, Gil," she cried, looking into his eyes pleadingly. "You're not okay! You're not okay," she repeated, her voice quavering. "How can you be okay? Look at you!"

His head lolled to the side. "I'm…sorry."

Sara watched him as he tried to hold his head up but in vain. "You're broken," she said in gasp. "You've let her win." She sighed, whipping him to her chest and beginning a gentle rocking motion. "Who's going to take care of you when I'm gone, hey?" Sara swayed and soothed, her hand stroking the back of his head while her silent tears slowly fell into his soft curls.

After a long moment, he pulled back from her embrace, his focus returning a little. "I'm sorry," he said in a barely audible whisper. "I didn't mean…to scare you."

A tear fell down his cheek and Sara closed her eyes, touching her forehead to his.

He continued, "I didn't think you'd come; I didn't think you'd want to be with me. Not any more. Not after what I've done."

Sara took a shuddering breath. "Where else would I be but with you, huh?" She paused, tilting his head up to make eye contact but his eyes were clenched shut. "Gil? Gil, please look at me."

He scrunched his eyes tighter shut, hanging his head in shame.

"Please look at me," she pleaded softly. "It's me, Sara. You don't need to hide yourself and your feelings from me. It's okay to feel the way you do. I'm sorry -I shouldn't have snapped and judged but-"

Grissom gingerly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze, silencing her as he struggled to form his lips into a small pitiful smile.

Sara stared at him and returned the wobbly smile. "Where else would I be, hey?" she repeated softly into his eyes as she stroked her hand soothingly to the side of his face. "I'll always be with you wherever you are, whatever you do; I'll be right here in your heart."

More tears built in Grissom's eyes and he nodded gently into her hands, staring back at her with so much love that Sara could only pull him to her and hold him tight, knowing that the worst of his demons had finally left him. Gaining strength and vigour from her presence Grissom's nod grew bigger, more confident, the shine in his eyes finally returning.

Sara pulled back, straightening up to her feet before picking up the bottle of scotch from the floor and setting it upright on the cabinet. She smiled at him when she caught his gaze before sliding down against the wall to sit beside him. She took his hand in hers, let out a sigh as she closed her eyes and listened to the music still playing in the background. Grissom's eyes followed her every move and then his eyes closed too as he leaned his head onto her shoulder.

They were silent for a moment and then a tiny laugh escaped Sara. "I didn't think you liked them. You always said their music was too whiny, too depressing – too _immature_."

Eyes closed, Grissom snorted at the way she'd said immature. "It is," he agreed. By immature, they both knew he'd meant that it made him feel old. After a moment, he added quietly, "That's the last thing you listened to before…before..."

Sara nodded, squeezing his hand comfortingly and they remained quiet for a moment lost into the song until she moved, breaking the moment. "Watching you with that boy was like watching my mother kill my father all over again," she said quietly. "Both times I was present and powerless to stop it all from unravelling in front of me."

Grissom's eyes opened abruptly and he lifted his head off her shoulder, turning toward her. "But you stopped me."

"No, Gil. You stopped yourself." She took his face in her hands, holding his gaze. "I don't want you to seek revenge for what happened to me. Not like this. Do you hear me?" she asked softly when he looked away. "Not if it costs you your life, your freedom and your integrity." Grissom's eyes closed. "Did you do what you did for me?" she went on. To which he shrugged. "To avenge me? Is that what you think I want? Revenge?" She shook her head softly, tears building in her eyes as she waited for a response. "Gil?"

Grissom pinched his lips, shrugging a small shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know that's not what you want. I lost my mind. I don't know what I was doing."

"I don't want revenge, not at that price, Gil. Not at any price."

"I know." He gently prised her hands off his face and stared at them for a long time, as if they held the answer to his problems. "I was blinkered, Sara. I thought your mother had done it." He stopped, his voice catching and he scoffed in disbelief. "How could I think that, huh? Your own mother?" He shrugged and looked up, bringing their joined hands up to wipe the tears from his eyes. "That, on top of everything else, really messed up with my head."

"I can't blame you," she said after a moment, "for thinking my mother is a murderer. She is."

"I thought I could stay in control," he went on as though she hadn't spoken. "I thought I could intimidate him, make him talk, make him tell me what I wanted to know – needed to know. I miscalculated the intensity of my emotions. They …I just let them take over."

"Yeah, you did," Sara replied with a soft smile on her lips. Yet he knew by the hard tone of her voice that she didn't approve or regard his poor excuse as anything else.

"I could never forgive myself if that boy…regardless of what he's done…if he died because of what I did."

"He won't. You made sure of it." She brushed her hand along his cheek, enjoying the feel of the soft bristles of his beard on her skin. "You checked he was fine. You let him go and called for help. Brass'll take care of him."

Grissom nodded grimly and looked up. His eyes shone with a new light. "I'm sorry I scared you. And I'm sorry for what I did."

"What you almost did," she amended softly, "but you didn't and ultimately that's what matters. You stopped yourself. You stopped in time."

"I should have told Brass about Martin Wallis straightaway. I should have trusted the system and my team to handle this the right way and that the evidence would have led us to her, whoever she is, eventually." He smiled and attempted to push himself up to his feet. "I'm going to call Brass now; tell him what I did. Face up to the consequences." He stifled a yawn. "I need to check up on the boy properly, too. Then, I'll get in touch with your mother again. She must be frantic with worry. I didn't even tell her which hospital they were keeping you in."

"She'll find me, Gil. Don't worry about that. She'll find me." She pulled him toward her. "Come here."

Grissom buried his face in the curve of her shoulder and closed his eyes. Sara smelled like his future, his sanity and he would hang on to that smell.

Suddenly she drew back. "Oh, Gil," she murmured and slipped her hand beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling out the pendent he had gotten her on her last birthday. On it, he had threaded his grandmother's wedding ring.

He looked down, shrugging helplessly. "It was always meant to be yours," he said in a small voice, smiling shyly. "That way, you'll always be close to my heart."

Sara smiled, leaned across and kissed him softly on the mouth. Grissom closed his eyes and when he reopened them Sara was gone.

Grissom staggered up to his feet. He swayed uncertainly and bracing himself on the liquor cabinet waited for the spinning in his head to subside, so he could move. He thought about calling Brass there and then and even reached into his pocket for his cell, switching it on. Immediately he got alerted to several missed calls and voice messages. He brought the phone to his ear but the effort it took to stay upright and keep his eyes open was more than he could manage. Instead, he replaced the phone in his pocket, took a few hesitant steps to the couch and lay down to sleep.

He never heard the white thunderbird pull up outside the townhouse.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Hit by a common garden spade; what a sad way to go…

I'd like to thank everyone who regularly leaves a review; I appreciate the support and encouragement. You are the ones who keep me going and keep me posting so regularly. The rest of you, silent majority, I'm very glad you're reading but please, take the time to let me know, especially following the disappointing lack of reviews for the last chapter because I need cheering; just tell me..._Sylvie,_ _great chapter_ and if it wasn't, _well __that really sucked!_ _I love Brass, how can you do that to him!_ I know I'm pushing boundaries but I'd rather you told me I was making a mistake than keep quiet. And whilst I'm at it...Vous qui lisez en France ou au Québec, un petit mot en français me ferait énormément plaisir. Vous êtes nombreux. Merci…;-)


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: I went from disappointed two chapters ago to tears in my eyes at the wonderful reviews for the last chapter. I don't know what to say and I certainly didn't think I'd need a hankie reading them, just writing the story. Thank you so very much; your comments have given me a second wind.

No hankie warning for this chapter; I couldn't do it to Brass, not with a spade, sorry. Remember to leave a review; they're just like the chunks of fresh buttered baguette dunked in the hot chocolates of my youth. Simply wonderful...

* * *

"Is this going to take much longer?" Brass asked for the umpteenth time.

"It'll take as long as it takes," the nurse replied unhurriedly. Unfazed by Brass's curtness she smiled, shaking her head. "If it wasn't for who you are, you'd still be lying on that gurney in the corridor, hooked up to a cardiac monitor, waiting to be seen by a doctor."

"Yeah, well, the job does come with some perks," Brass quipped before adding in a grumble, "And anyway, the paramedics overreacted; there's nothing wrong with my ticker."

"Only with your temperament."

Pursing his face in irritation Brass opened his eyes and muttered a few chosen words under his breath, wincing as the bright light shining over his face pierced right through his skull.

More amused by the police captain's whingeing than anything the nurse smiled mildly and continued her leisurely suturing of the laceration on his forehead. "Mr Cook did a good job on resetting your nose," she said after a moment. "It should heal just fine."

Brass brought his hand to the heavy strapping covering the splint in the middle of his face and gave out a long sigh.

"Keep still!" the nurse instructed with good humour as she sutured the last one of the stitches. She pushed her chair back, examining her handiwork. "Not bad if I say so myself. We wouldn't want it to leave a scar now, would we?" She put her paraphernalia down on the tray and winked at the detective adding, "On such a pretty face."

The police captain closed his eyes tiredly and counted to three. "Are you done now? I got places to be."

"Not so fast." She checked the strapping over the police captain's broken nose was tight enough but not too tight. "There, all done," she added, pulling back from Brass's face and pushing away the bright light. "How does it feel?"

"Numb," the detective replied curtly, brushing his hand over the stitches. He struggled into a more upright position, wincing at the sharp pain in his skull. "Can I go now?"

The nurse helped Brass sit up. "I should think they'll want to keep you in overnight for observation. It's standard procedure with head traumas."

"I'm perfectly fine," Brass grumbled impatiently, waving the nurse away. "Stop fussing. I don't need to stay overnight. In fact, I _can't_ stay overnight-"

"I know. You got places to be."

Brass mumbled his short-tempered reply, his head turning as a hand pushed the cubicle curtain to the side revealing Doctor Cook.

"Sir," the doctor said with no time to waste, "Your X-rays confirms what I told you. Your concussion is only a mild one but-"

"Good. That means I can be on my way."

The doctor frowned in bewilderment, throwing a wary look at the nurse who just shrugged mildly back. "The paramedics who brought you in said you lost consciousness. I'm afraid with head traumas-"

"I'm fine!" Brass snapped. "I was in the middle of a goddamn arrest, for crying out loud. They overreacted; I told them I was fine but hey, they knew better." He took a deep breath and pulled the tape holding the IV line in place off his arm.

The doctor rushed to still Brass's shaky hand. "Sir, you're not going anywhere; we're going to keep you in overnight as a precaution."

"No," Brass said categorically, pulling the IV line out of his arm and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He shoved the line in the doctor's hands and pushed himself off the bed. Immediately, he paused, leaning against the bed while the dizziness passed. Blood started to trickle down his forearm.

The nurse rushed over to press a small wad of gauze to the spot on Brass's arm where blood was already pooling. "Sir, please," she said gently pushing him back toward the bed, "you're in no condition to go anywhere. Lay back down. I'm sure they can manage one night without you."

Brass pushed the nurse away and took over applying pressure on his arm while she grudgingly reached for a band-aid. Brass glanced up toward the doctor, saying, "Just give me a couple of pills for the headache." He felt his fingers over the egg-shaped bump on the side of his head. "The rest'll take care of itself."

His lips set in a thin line the doctor watched Brass for a moment and then sighed, thinking of all the patients still waiting to be seen. "Fine," he finally said. "Have it your way. We can't keep you here against your will anyway and we need the beds. But if the _headache_," he said his fingers mimicking quote marks, "intensifies, you must come back straightaway. It's important that you do. I will make a note in your chart of the fact that you discharged yourself against doctor's advice."

"I get it. Where do I sign?"

The doctor shared a look with the nurse, shrugging his shoulders. "Just give Nurse Greef time to run down to the pharmacy and get your meds while I get the paperwork done, all right?"

Brass nodded his head brusquely before closing his eyes, wincing at the pain.

* * *

Catherine was finishing labelling the last of the evidence she had collected in the lounge, ready to send a uniformed officer with it to the lab for processing when her cell rang. She paused and reached into her case, breathing a sigh of relief on seeing Brass's name flashing on the display. "Jim! I didn't think I'd hear from you so quickly. I -"

"Catherine," Brass cut in tersely. "Stop talking. We've wasted enough time through my stupidity as it is."

Catherine smiled, glad to hear that Brass hadn't lost any of his charm. "Any news on Martin Wallis?" she asked.

"He's in custody but refuses to confirm his name and without a name we can't formally charge him so…I guess he's buying us time."

"Could we have the wrong guy?"

"For the attack on Sara? Maybe. On me? Hell no and he's going to pay for messing with me and my good looks."

Catherine laughed quietly. "It's good to hear you're okay. You got me worried there for a while."

"Yeah, well, I should have been more careful. Anyhow, you recovered anything probative from the house?"

Catherine scanned her gaze over the evidence on the table. "I can't tell you if it's probative until we get it back to the lab but we got a lot of prints and a lot of DNA. Not the cleanest of houses, which is always a bonus. If she's in the system, we're on to her."

"I've a feeling she won't be." There was a pause. "Listen Catherine, I'm still at the hospital and I need you to come pick me up. They're discharging me-"

"They're what?" Catherine paused, shaking her head as she realised what the detective really meant. "Is this really wise?"

"Not you too, Catherine, please. I got a concussion and a broken nose; it's not the first and won't be the last time, I'm sure. They said I'll be fine as long I don't get hit on the head again. Anyway, I agreed I wouldn't drive and there's something I want to check out without my men or dispatch knowing about it. So I need a ride."

Catherine's eyebrow rose and she checked over her shoulder that she wasn't being overheard. "Is this regarding Grissom? Have you heard from him?"

"No and he's still not picking up his cell or his house phone. But the knock on the head gave me an idea of where he might be hiding."

A small laugh escaped Catherine. "Okay," she said, checking her watch. "Let me finish what I'm doing here, brief Nick and - Are you at North Vegas General?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Main entrance in fifteen minutes?"

"Thanks. Oh, and any news from Warrick?"

Catherine put Brass on speaker phone and the cell down on the table and began packing away her kit while she talked. "Yeah. Sara's fine- well…" She sighed, letting her words trail and shaking her head at her words. "As you'd expect we got no usable prints. So far no witnesses either but security got a CCTV recording of a woman not wearing hospital clothing seen entering and leaving the main ICU area around about that time. She only stayed briefly and kept her face turned away from the cameras as though she knew where they were but Warrick's confident he can enhance the picture."

"Sir, the use of cell phones is strictly forbidden in the hospital," Catherine heard in the background, causing her to smile.

Brass muttered his reply and then told Catherine, "Okay, that's something. Listen, Catherine, Nurse Ratchet's back with my meds so-"

Catherine closed her field kit. "I'll be as quick as I can."

* * *

The white Thunderbird stopped across the road and waited a moment, idling at the kerb. Marty checked over his shoulder and did a U-turn parking directly in front of the townhouse. He killed the lights, cut the engine and looking all around pulled the hood of his top over his head, partially covering his face. He already wore black woollen gloves.

Joanne still wore her denim skirt and red open-toed shoes but had slipped a sweater over her blouse and pulled her hair back into a ponytail secured under a ball cap. She smiled at Marty and leaned across to brush a soft kiss to his lips before flipping the sun visor down to touch up her lipstick in the small mirror. Feeling Marty's eyes on her she smiled before winking at him, picking up her purse as they both got out of the car.

"Come on, Angel," she said across the car roof top, glancing toward the townhouse. "Let's put my plan into action." She noticed Grissom's Mercedes was parked differently than on their previous visit and her smile widening, she nodded her head toward it. "Looks like someone's home."

"You got the stuff?" Marty asked following her gaze.

"Don't you worry, sweetness. Stick to what we agreed."

They found the front door open a crack, the ripped yellow crime scene tape flapping in the cool evening breeze. Joanne wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her hands over her arms for warmth as she scanned her gaze up and down the front of the house, on the look-out.

They heard a sound.

Marty froze with his hand on the handle and turned back toward Joanne who just jerked her head toward the house, indicating that they should enter quickly. Marty gave a hesitant nod in reply and gingerly pushed the door open wider. He peeked in and immediately noticed Grissom's slumped body half-sitting half-lying on the couch. He nudged his companion in the side and pointed toward the sleeping man. Joanne smirked and they went in, quietly closing the door behind them.

The woman burst into a quiet chortle as she took in Grissom's pitiful state. It was clear from the stench of booze, the empty bottle of scotch on the cabinet and the drunken snores drifting out of Grissom's mouth that he wasn't dead, merely passed out.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," she said still laughing. She leaned over Grissom, bringing her two middle fingers to his throat feeling for a pulse. She found a strong one and shook her head in disbelief. "He's passed out; he couldn't have made it easier for us if he had tried."

"Good stuff too," Marty remarked picking up the bottle of scotch and reading the label. He looked up toward the now silent sound system and ran his hand over it with envy, inadvertently kicking his foot against the gun lying partially hidden under the liquor cabinet beneath it. He bent down to take a look.

"We won't even need to sedate him," Joanne continued not paying attention to what Marty was doing. She smiled longingly as she scraped a long scarlet fingernail up along Grissom's throat to the cleft on his chin and over his mouth. "My poor angel did that all by himself."

"Look at this, J," Marty said, pointing toward the Beretta. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand before checking the magazine. Slipping it in the waistband of his jeans in the small of his back, he walked back toward the couch and said, "The magazine's full. Do you think the bastard used it on Jimmy?" He gave Grissom's leg an angry kick causing the CSI to mumble incomprehensibly and shift in his sleep.

Joanne moved back slightly but didn't break contact, her fingers still stroking over Grissom's opened lips as he resettled himself. She suppressed a shiver and a moan on feeling his breath on her skin, her eyes closing in abandon.

"J?" Marty asked in a whisper, his face creased into a puzzled frown as he watched his lover with Grissom.

Grissom breathed another contented sigh in his sleep. Unexpectedly, his eyes sprung open, staring unblinkingly in front of him.

Joanne snatched her hand away but did not move. She just tilted her head to the side, watching him.

His gaze hazy and unfocused, Grissom's lips curled into an adoring smile as he gazed back at Joanne. "Sara…" he mumbled, his head sinking deeper into the cushions as his eyes closed softly.

Joanne smiled. Then she leaned over Grissom, cupping her hand to his cheek. "That's right, honey. I'm here. I came."

"What are you doing?" Marty asked in a loud whisper, visibly surprised by Joanne's actions.

Joanne startled as though she had forgotten all about Marty's presence in the room and withdrew her hand. "Just having a little fun, Marty. Come and join us."

Marty muttered something under his breath and moved away from the couch. "Come on," he said with a nod toward the door, "let's take him before they come looking for him and catch up with us."

"Relax, Angel. We got a little time. They'll still be busy at the house with Jimmy."

"You're not worried about what they're going to find?"

Joanne paused, shrugging a shoulder. "By the time they work out who I am, we'll be long gone."

"So what do we do now?"

"Let him sleep, Marty. Look at him. Look at the smile on his face. Bet I know who he's dreaming of." She laughed a quiet laugh and bent down close to Grissom's sleeping face, hovering by before softly pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's my angel," she told him, her lips on his.

Grissom frowned in his sleep, his smile morphing into a slow grimace. All the hairs on his body suddenly stood on end. The smell of her perfume, the chilling sound of her voice, the stale breaths blowing hot and ragged on his face, the sticky lips and bitter taste of nicotine on his mouth could only mean one woman.

J.

Eyes still closed but awake and instantly sobered up, Grissom's hand shot up to his face, his fingers curling and locking around Joanne's wrist, keeping her in place. He opened his eyes slowly only to stare into the coldest, most evil gaze, her hot breaths blowing harder on his mouth. Joanne tugged her arm away sharply but Grissom's hold was tight, grabbing hard enough for him to feel the beat of her pulse through his fingers. He didn't let go and stared back unwaveringly while his brain scanned back over the hundreds of faces of his past.

They stared in each other's eyes silently, neither giving the other an inch until Joanne yielded, becoming limp in his grasp as she willingly surrendered to him. At that moment, she had seen in his eyes that the last cog had finally clicked into place and he had placed her. She grinned pleasurably, her eyes lighting up with undisguised excitement.

"You like it rough, don't you?" she whispered hoarsely, her gaze never leaving his.

Her words scorched him like a flame and he let go of her wrist, shrinking back into the couch in fright. He blinked uncertainly and swiped his hand across his mouth, his face twisted in disgust as he tried to rid himself of the taste of her on his lips.

"So much hatred," she told him still leaning close over him, "I see so much hatred in you." She smiled. "You almost look repulsed."

The nearer she came, almost settling herself over his lap, the more Grissom seemed to shrivel into the back of the couch. When he could go no further and before Joanne had time to react, he raised both hands up between their bodies and pushed her off him with so much force that she lost balance, staggering backwards and tripping over the coffee table.

The smile instantly died on her lips, her eyes narrowing menacingly at Grissom as she lay sprawled on the floor.

Marty who up to now had been happy to silently observe the scene pulled the gun out of the waistband of his pants, brandishing it in the air toward Grissom. His eyes darted between Joanne and the CSI as he wondered what he should do.

Sensing the younger man's hesitation, Grissom rose up, quickly pushing up to his feet as he tried grabbing the gun out of Marty's hand. But Marty who was younger, faster and not under the influence hit the CSI across the face with the gun, sending him crashing back down onto the couch with a loud thud. Pain throbbed behind Grissom's eye and along his nose and stunned, he brought his hand to his face, feeling blood and tasting copper on his lips.

Marty lifted the hand holding the gun up in the air about to strike Grissom again but Joanne who by then had picked herself up grabbed Marty's arm, holding him back.

"Stop," she commanded between heavy breaths, her eyes wide and wild. Then, more softly, "Stop."

Marty stopped immediately. He glanced at Joanne and raising the gun at Grissom, took a couple of hesitant steps back.

Without breaking Grissom's gaze, Joanne slowly lifted her hand to the side and slapped him as hard as she could across the face – a big sweeping slap that took him completely by surprise and sent him flying down onto the couch. "Don't you dare hit me again," she spat as Grissom brought his hand to his burning cheek, "Or I'll personally put two between your eyes."

Grissom froze blanching at the use of the exact same phrase he'd threatened Jimmy with. He pushed himself up into a sitting position on the couch, his confused gaze flitting between Marty and Joanne.

"But why?" he asked after a moment.

"Isn't it obvious?" she replied. Grissom tried to blink away the pain and fog in his mind and shook his head dejectedly in reply. She laughed. "It's simple. You took my prince from me." Her eyes darkened. "And now, Jimmy too."

"No. We didn't," he protested incredulously. "You did that all by yourself. What you did to Adam was wrong," he replied in a small voice. He shook his head, adding in a murmur, "I don't understand."

"No, you don't, do you?" Joanne said incredibly softly as though addressing a child. She lifted her hand to his reddening cheek. She smiled a little sadly and then snatched her hand away. Her gaze became distant, almost wistful. "Adam killed himself," she said as if that explained everything.

Grissom looked back with surprise.

"Five months ago. Stabbed a pen to his throat. The night before he was to testify?" Her voice rose slightly at the end as though she couldn't believe what had happened. Grissom's gaze was averted to the floor, the gun still aimed on him. "He couldn't do it," she continued. "They threw out the charges against me."

Grissom looked up, meeting Joanne's gaze.

She gave a small disbelieving snort. "You're thinking why Sara, aren't you? You don't care about me or Adam or Jimmy."

Grissom just stared blankly back.

"Sara fought back; she didn't want to come," she said holding Grissom's gaze. "She didn't want to die." She smiled, shaking her head and musing, "Die. Dead but not really. She's beautiful as she sleeps – an angel. Your angel, isn't she?"

A shadow crossed through Grissom's face, his pain and heartache plain to see. He glanced at Marty. "You might as well me kill me now, if you want revenge. I have nothing more to lose."

"Oh, yes, you have. More than you realise."

"She's as good as dead anyway."

"But she isn't yet, is she?" Joanne's yellowed fingers curved around Grissom's jaw, coaxing it up so their eyes met but he jerked her hand off almost immediately. She laughed. "She's still here with you, isn't she? Alive in your heart? In your head? You're not letting go."

Without Grissom being aware of it, tears had filled his eyes. "You're sick and twisted, perverted," he said in a rasp whisper. "How can you compare what perversion you felt for your son with my love for Sara?" Joanne's jaw set, her face darkening, his words like daggers through her heart. Grissom continued, "Your love was perverse and impure. Not real-"

"I'm going to make sure you never get to see her again," she grit through clenched teeth, "So you never get to say goodbye."

Grissom closed his eyes briefly, swallowing his pain. When he reopened them, his watery eyes had turned to ice.

Without any care for his life, he leapt to his feet onto Marty, catching the younger man by surprise. Like a mad man, he punched him in the face and grabbed the gun, twisting it away and out of his hands before elbowing him to the floor. He was turning the gun onto Joanne when he felt the prick of a needle in his arm and then the slow, warm release of liquid into his body.

Eyes wide with disbelief, he glanced down at the syringe sticking out of his arm and then back up to Joanne's face. Sweat mixed with blood was running down his face and into his eyes, his breathing laboured. He was about to curl his fingers around the trigger when he felt his hand relax, his grip on the gun diminishing until he heard it drop to the ground. Simultaneously his legs turned to jelly and Grissom blinked uncertainly, his vision going in and out before falling in a heap on the floor.

* * *

Tbc.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Another long chapter, I'm afraid with a lot happening. I hope it reads okay. Let me know.

* * *

The white Thunderbird had only just pulled out into the night when Grissom's house phone rang - long rings that echoed out through the open front door. On the sixth ring, the machine picked up and Sara's mother's frantic voice filled the silence.

"Mr Grissom? Hello, it's a…Laura Sidle? My friend, Karen…huh…I got your message...about Sara?" Sara's name, uttered as though a question, died on her lips, swallowed by the tears in her voice. "I've been calling your cell, leaving message after message but I guess you mustn't have gotten them or you would have called back. I got in touch with…huh…Sara's work?...your work and spoke with a Mr Ecklie but he wasn't able to tell me much about Sara's condition and gave me this number for you." She sniffed loudly and then her next words came out in a jumble of tears and snuffles. "The hospital wouldn't tell me anything over the phone but I told them I'd head there as soon as I land. Anyway, I'm booked on the next flight from San Francisco getting into Vegas at 11 pm. Huh…Mr Grissom? Thank you again for letting me know about Sara. I can't believe she kept my number after all this time and let you call me-"

The machine killed Laura's voice mid-sentence, once more plunging the house into silence.

* * *

"His car's not in the lot."

"I can see that," Brass grumbled with a sigh. He looked up toward the second floor of the apartment block. "That's Sara's, there," he said, pointing. "The drapes are open."

Catherine followed his finger with her eyes. "You've been here often?"

"A few times over the years," he replied in a small voice. "She went through a rough patch two years ago so I came by a little. Not so much in the last year, I guess."

Catherine nodded, scanning her gaze over the building. "Let's go and take a look anyway," she said trying to inject some optimism into her statement. "We're here now, so we might as well. Maybe his car's parked round the corner."

"Or Warrick was right and he's sitting behind a shit load of chips at the Monaco," Brass retorted, ever the cynic. "Or he's behind his desk back at CSI preparing assignments while we're here on a fucking wild goose chase. Or better still, this is all a fucking nightmare; Sara was never attacked and we're all going to wake up hunky-dory."

Alarmed by Brass's sudden outburst, Catherine stopped, touching the captain on the arm. "You okay?" she asked with concern. "Maybe discharging yourself from the hospital so soon wasn't such a good idea after all," she added gently.

Brass stopped walking and forced a smile. "I'll be fine," he sighed. "I'm just worried about him – about them both. If this is what he's like _now_, what's he going to be like when they…" He shook his head, the words dying on his lips.

Catherine swallowed her pain and worry and formed her lips into a semblance of a smile. She rubbed her hand over his upper arm, glad she was there to offer him a little comfort as he had done for her at the crime scene. "You know what he's like," she said quietly after a moment, "he's only happy in his own company. We'll find him soon enough."

Brass offered Catherine a small smile, nodding his head at her words and resumed walking toward the front door of the apartment building, Catherine following on his heels. As they reached the main entrance Brass scanned his gaze over the numbers on the intercom and pressed the button for the super.

"I'm sorry," he told Catherine as they waited for a reply. He felt in his pocket for his pain medication and popped two pills into his mouth. "I'm okay. It's just this damn headache that won't pass. I'll let you do the talking. How about that?"

Catherine's lips twitched into a fond smile. "That'd be a first."

"Hello, can I help you?" came a muffled reply through the intercom.

Catherine leaned closer to the microphone, ready to talk. "Cath-"

"LVPD, can you let us in?" Brass said gruffly, talking over her.

Catherine pulled back, shaking her head in mock-irritation. _I'll let you do the talking, my ass!_ she thought.

"Well, that depends," said the voice. "Who is it you're looking for?"

Brass rolled his eyes, wincing at the pain that suddenly shot through his whole face. Catherine noticed and nudged him gently out of the way, answering, "Catherine Willows. I'm with the crime lab. We're looking for a friend of ours whose girlfriend?" she shrugged at Brass helplessly, "lives here. Apartment 2B-"

"Sara? I've not seen her in a couple of weeks. If you're looking for Mr Grissom, you've missed him. I'm afraid he's been and gone."

"Grissom was here?" Brass asked, swiftly perking up.

"Just said so didn't I?" the voice replied. "All afternoon."

Catherine and Brass shared a look. Then Brass said, "Can we come in? Have a chat with you?" He looked at Catherine, amending his tone, "If it's not too inconvenient."

There was a pause and then the door clicked open. "Come on in. It's the first door on your right."

When they rounded the corner, Brass and Catherine found the door open and the super leaning against the doorjamb waiting.

His warrant card in hand, Brass began without preamble. "So, Mr?"

The super stared at Brass's beat-up face, his features twisted into a pained expression. "Kendall," he replied after a moment, peeling his eyes off Brass onto Catherine. "Wally Kendall." He extended his hand to Catherine who shook it a little tentatively.

"Mr Kendall," Brass said ignoring the man's proffered hand, "you say Grissom was here all afternoon?"

"He left two hours ago."

Brass looked at Catherine. "You sure?"

Kendall pursed his face uncertainly and glanced back toward the wall clock above the television in his apartment. "No. You're right. My bad. Make that two and a half hours." He motioned with his hand for Brass and Catherine to step in. They declined. "I think they had a lover's tiff," he continued, "and that's why Mr Grissom spent the afternoon here."

Catherine registered a look of surprise. "Don't you watch the local news at all, Sir?"

Looking puzzled, Kendall redirected his gaze onto Catherine. "No," he replied. "Too depressing. I prefer fiction. Why? Has something happened?"

"And you know this how?" Brass interjected before Catherine could reply.

Kendall's frown turned toward Brass. "Sorry?"

"The lover's tiff, as you called it," Brass repeated. "What made you think that?"

Kendall shrugged. "We spoke."

"You spoke to him?" Brass asked before clenching his eyes shut as pain lanced through from his left eye to the back of his skull.

"Just said so, didn't I?" Kendall replied impatiently. He looked at Catherine questioningly but she was watching Brass, the worry apparent in her eyes. There was an awkward pause until Catherine refocused her gaze, smiling at Kendall to proceed. He cleared his throat, and then said, "He had this glazed-over look, you know? Like he'd not slept in a long time or…like he'd been crying? Of course, I didn't mention it. Oh, and he had this big carrier bag full of clothes and stuff. I reckon he packed in a hurry if you get my drift."

Catherine nodded her head distractedly, glancing at Brass from the corner of her eye. "What time did he get here?" she asked.

"Now, let me see. M.A.S.H was on. It must have been around three? He asked for the spare key. Of course, it's not his name on the lease but I didn't see any reasons why he shouldn't have it. Did I do something wrong?"

Catherine shook her head. "No, Sir, you didn't."

Brass said, "What happened afterwards?"

"Nothing. I gave him Sara's mail and he went up. I heard him potter around a little. Then, he stayed in the bedroom a long time; had a shower. I heard the bed creak a few times and then nothing. I assumed he went to sleep. As I said, he looked like he needed it."

Catherine's brow was arched in utter bewilderment. "And you know all this, how?"

"Ceiling's not that thick, if you get my drift," he replied with a waggle of his brow.

"Carry on," Brass said, his tone leaving no room for pleasantries.

Kendall stroked his hand to his chin as he thought. "Afterwards, I heard the TV come on. It was on loud, way louder than Sara ever has it, so I noticed."

Brass's ears pricked. "What time was that?"

"Four thirty," he stated positively. To Brass's dubious stare he added, "I'm absolutely certain. _Jeopardy!_ came on upstairs and I was watching it. I never miss it."

Brass stole a glance at Catherine. He could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking the same thing as him – that Grissom's alibi was just too fortuitous to ring true. "But you never actually _saw_ him," Brass then stated.

Kendall frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Just what I said," Brass replied impatiently.

"Well, I saw him arrive and I saw him leave but I can't see through ceilings. Although believe me, I hear plenty." Kendall's tone was abrupt now. "Besides," he added defensively, "his car never left Sara's spot in the lot. It's right underneath my window; I'd have noticed if he'd gone out. Such a gorgeous specimen, his car. Late fifties model, worth a mint."

"Yeah, I get the picture," Brass said with a sigh. "Can we have the key to Sara's apartment?"

"Shouldn't you have a warrant for that? I'm not sure if Mr Grissom would appreciate you two zomboes traipsing round and trashing the place."

Catherine placed a placating hand on Brass's arm, stopping him before he had time to say or do something he would regret. "Like I said, we're friends of theirs; we won't touch anything." She smiled amicably. "Besides, this is part of an ongoing investigation."

"An ongoing investigation involving Sara and Mr Grissom? Did he do something to her? You see it everyday; the quiet ones are the ones you should watch-"

"No, Sir," Catherine cut in. "Sara was attacked while running in the park on Saturday afternoon."

Kendall gasped and reached out a hand behind him, propping himself up on the door handle. "He never let on. How is she?"

Catherine sighed. "She's not doing too good."

The super nodded, his gaze drifting to his feet. He thought for a moment and then headed to the wall mounted cabinet in his apartment and unhooked Sara's spare key. He shuffled back to Brass and Catherine at the door, wordlessly holding out the key.

"Thank you," Catherine said, glancing toward Brass and taking the key. "We'll get it back to you as soon as we're done. One more thing before we go, you said you saw Grissom leave?"

Kendall nodded but he was distracted, his gaze distant and sad.

"Mr Kendall?" Catherine called. Brass got her attention and shook his head. To which, the CSI nodded back, saying, "Thanks Mr Kendall, you've been a great help."

* * *

Grissom slowly awoke to the distant sound of Country and Western music partially drowned out by the persistent low rumble of an engine. His body was trembling, his head pounding loudly behind his left eye, his heart drumming in his chest. He felt drowsy, groggy even, his breathing pained and laboured, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He tried opening his eyes. One eye was so swollen that he could barely open it, let alone see through it. He was having a hard time focusing and when he finally did he found himself staring at complete darkness.

_Come on, buddy, concentrate. Focus on your other senses. What do they tell you?_

His hands were tied behind his back, plastic binds cutting painfully into his wrists, his arms aching and twisted at a funny angle. His ankles were bound together too, leaving him very little room for manoeuvre as he lay on his side. He felt hot all over, his clothes stuck to his body, damp with sweat. Sweat was running down the side of his face too and into his eyes and licked his tongue over his lips, parched and cracked and sore. He tasted dry blood on them mixed with the sweat. Without knowing, he smiled at the fact that he wasn't gagged. At least he could breathe all right even if the air smelled of car exhaust fumes and burned oil.

_Car fumes and burned oil,_ he thought blurrily.

He gave a small snort then as he came to the realisation that he was trussed up in the trunk of a car – most probably the white Ford Thunderbird he hadn't found parked in the drive at 154 Santa Clarita Avenue. The white Thunderbird that most probably belonged to Joanne McKay.

_Joanne McKay. _Like her caustic laughter, the name echoed round his head and he suppressed a cold shiver.

The last moment before he went down slowly came back to him. How could he have been so stupid as to think he could outsmart his attackers when he hadn't even known who or where they were? How could he not have foreseen that attacking one of their own would only unleash their fury further? How could he have been so foolish as to drink himself defenceless and let himself be caught?

_With all your experience working with criminals, you should have known better._

Yet, he was still alive – sore and aching and hungover but alive. That was good; she hadn't wanted to kill him. If she had she would have done it already. The drug she had injected him with had rendered him unconscious; a muscle relaxant that when mixed with the alcohol already flowing in his bloodstream had given him no chance to defend himself at all.

_Okay, enough with the regret and self-pity. What are you going to do about it? How are you going to get yourself out of this mess and get back to Sara before it's too late? _

They were still on the move. The road felt smooth, long and straight, the car engine revving at a constant speed. Were they on the highway? The interstate? Could McKay and Wallis be taking him to Reno? So many unanswered questions; he had no idea how long he'd been out for the count or how much distance they had covered.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, he closed his eyes again, lulled by the soft rumble of the engine. Suddenly, a bleary recollection came flooding back to him, taking over his thoughts. His eyes stung with spontaneous tears and he felt them run down his face to his mouth, powerless as he was to stop them.

"_You'll never get to say goodbye," _Joanne McKay's gravelly voice repeated in his head over and over again.

The gradual slowing down of the car jarred him out of his thoughts of Sara and back to a hazy present. As the car pulled over to the side of the road, he made out the tell-tale sound of the old-fashioned ping of a bell alerting the gas attendant of a new customer.

_They're stopping for gas,_ he thought in a moment of lucidity._ This could be my only chance to escape. _

The engine was turned off followed a moment later by two car doors banging shut. Then a key was inserted into the lock of the trunk and it popped open.

"He's still out," he heard Marty say.

Facing back toward the main body of the car feigning unconsciousness, Grissom felt a hand shake him roughly in the side from behind. It took all his resolve not to cry out in pain. _Add cracked or broken ribs to the list of ailments, _he thought.

"Strange. He should be coming to by now," said McKay.

"We don't know how much booze he'd had to drink beforehand."

"True." A pause. "The attendant's coming. Gas up while I go see if I can find us something to eat."

_If I call for help now, not only do I alert McKay to the fact that I've regained consciousness but I also risk this poor gas attendant's life. They have my gun. They won't hesitate to kill him – and me in the bargain. I'm going to have to grind my teeth and outsmart them. How, remains to be seen._

* * *

"There's nothing here Jim. He's been, had a shower – the towel's still damp on the bedroom floor – the bed looks slept in and," she motioned toward the coffee table, "he's left his trash behind." She paused, watching Brass who throughout her monologue had remained silent, sat on the couch with his eyes closed. "Hey," she said gently, "am I sending you to sleep?"

Brass gave a slow shake of the head in reply.

"You okay?" she asked, touching her hand to his shoulder.

A short nod was his only answer, followed a moment later with, "Just give me a minute and I'll be right as rain."

Catherine watched Brass uncertainly for a moment, then went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, which she took to the detective. "Jim, here drink this. Maybe you shouldn't have taken those pills on an empty stomach."

_That's the least of my worries,_ Brass thought but instead he reopened his eyes, nodding as he took the glass of water and drank a small sip.

She waited a beat. "What do you think?" she then asked, torn between her concern for Brass and finding Grissom. "Could he have stayed here all afternoon like Kendall says?"

Brass's shoulders rose in a shrug. Watching him closely, Catherine was about to suggest she took him back to the hospital when he said, "I think that Grissom's carefully constructed the perfect alibi. God knows he knows how. Either way we'll never know."

"Until Martin Wallis starts to blab."

"Yeah." He took a small breath and gingerly got to his feet. "Let's go; there's nothing here-" Brass's cell rang at this exact moment and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket, frowning at the unknown number flashing on the display. He looked at Catherine. "Let me take this, just in case it's Grissom calling from a pay phone. Brass," he answered into the phone.

"I hope you don't mind my calling you in the middle of the night but…" Brass glanced at Catherine, shaking his head. "…you said to call if I noticed anything suspicious again."

"I'm sorry; who are you? And how did you get this number?"

There was a pause. "Hum, you gave me your card with this number on and said to keep an eye out on the Grissoms' house and call you if I noticed anything. I'm Frances-"

"Mrs Harris," Brass cut in with a sigh. "I remember. And is there?" he asked wearily, "anything wrong with the Grissoms' house?"

"Well, that's the thing, I'm not entirely sure."

Brass closed his eyes and ran a hand over his head. "How do you mean?"

"Well, a couple of hour ago, I noticed Mr Grissom's car was back in the drive but well, it's his house so I didn't think anything of it. But then as I was going to the take out place for our dinner, I noticed the white Thunderbird was parked outside his house again."

"Again?"

"Sure. It was there yesterday morning too. I told Mr Grissom about it. He said he'd let you know."

"Well, he didn't." Brass motioned to Catherine that they should go. "Is it still there now? The white Thunderbird?"

"No, that's it. It left while I was out but I immediately noticed that the front door was left open again so I checked."

"Did you go in?" Brass asked, following Catherine into the corridor and down the stairs.

"I didn't need to. I saw the state of the lounge and I left. The coffee table was overturned, the furniture amiss. And there was blood on the floor near the front door."

Brass sighed. Overcome by a wave of dizziness, he reached out to the hand rail and held on to it, doubling over in pain and his cell falling out of his grasp.

"Jim!" Catherine called. She caught up with him, supporting his weight and helped him down so he could sit down on the stairs. Throwing a quick glance in his direction, she picked up the phone. "Mrs Harris," she said, "Catherine Willows here. I'm a colleague and friend of Grissom's. We think he's in danger. I didn't get what you told Captain Brass but do you know where Grissom is?"

"Is Captain Brass okay?"

Catherine glanced toward the detective. "He's fine. He's had to go and take care of business."

"Oh, okay. Well, that's the thing, I don't. But with the commotion and the blood and the break-in, I think they took him. I think Mr Grissom was kidnapped."

"Who's _they_, Mrs Harris?"

"The people in the white Thunderbird!"

Catherine was trying to put the missing pieces together as best she could. "Did you take a look at them?"

"Well, no. I didn't. But I jotted down the licence plate just in case. Would you like to have it?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and then she smiled at Brass, watching as he held on to the banister to pull himself up to his feet. His brow was shiny with sweat, his breathing a little ragged. Looking concerned, she found a pen and paper in her purse. "Okay. Let me have it."

"TUD – 546."

Catherine repeated the number into the phone as she wrote it down. "Thank you," she then said, disconnecting the call. "Jim, I'm taking you back to the hospital now."

* * *

Tbc.


	31. Chapter 31

Catherine looked in through the open door and watched as Ecklie packed up his briefcase. Without any more hesitation, she rapped her knuckles on the door frame, a fake smile on her face. "Conrad," she said when the lab director looked up, "can I have a quick work with you before you head off?"

Ecklie looked mildly surprised by Catherine's impromptu visit but nodded her in regardless. "Sure," he said smiling a little hesitantly. He swiftly closed his briefcase, which he carefully placed on the floor by his chair and sat down at his desk, inviting Catherine to do the same. "What can I do for you Catherine? Is it regarding Sara's case?"

Catherine stepped in, closing the door behind her and, keeping her gaze averted to the floor she grudgingly took a seat across from Ecklie.

Picking up on her unease, Ecklie's smile disappeared and he straightened up in the chair. "Catherine, has something happened?"

Catherine looked up and gave a small sigh, unsure how best to proceed. Whichever way she went about it she was bound to compromise Grissom's integrity but in view of the present situation she couldn't keep Ecklie in the dark any longer. Making eye contact with the lab director, she finally said, "Hum…Grissom…Grissom's been…it seems that he's been investigating Sara's case and that-"

"Don't look so troubled, Catherine," Ecklie cut in, his lips pulling into a small, knowing smile. "I fully expected him to. To be honest with you, I'd have been surprised if he hadn't." He paused, shrugging mildly. "I'd have done the same. As long as it's all above board," he added, "I'm prepared to turn a blind eye and-"

"That's not all," Catherine uttered, interrupting Ecklie mid-flow. His brow rose in interest. "At some point," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "he worked out the identity of Sara's attackers. I'll pass over the details but now Brass has the male involved, a Martin Wallis, in custody on another charge."

Ecklie nodded gravely. "I heard about that. How's Jim doing?"

"He suffered a broken nose and a concussion but he should make a full recovery. As far as I'm aware he's still at the hospital now."

"And has this Wallis been charged with his part in the attack on Sara?"

"No, not yet. PD's waiting for Nick to finish processing the house before they interview him."

"Okay." Ecklie paused and shifted forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing. "You said Grissom identified Sara's attackers, in the plural, so who's Wallis's accomplice?"

Catherine let out a long sigh. "We think it's a woman called Joanne McKay."

Ecklie abruptly pushed his chair back, getting to his feet. He began pacing the room. "You think?"

Catherine shifted in the seat so she could follow Ecklie's progress as she spoke. "So far, we've uncovered no hard evidence linking her to the assault."

"Joanne McKay…" Ecklie mused aloud suddenly stopping his pacing, "…the name rings a bell."

"Grissom and Sara investigated the murder of a patient at Desert State Mental Hospital last year. They thought McKay was guilty but the evidence was circumstantial and they couldn't prove it. But during their investigation they uncovered that she was conducting a sexual relationship with one of her patients who also happened to be her son and she was arrested for that."

"That's right. I remember now," Ecklie whispered. "Jesus. So you're thinking she attacked Sara out of revenge?"

Catherine shrugged her ambivalence. "It's certainly a strong possibility."

Ecklie pursed his face dubiously. "Any idea where to look for this McKay?"

"Well, that's the thing," Catherine replied a little anxiously. "She's on the loose." She went on to relay Grissom's neighbour's call to PD, mentioning the sighting of McKay's car outside the townhouse but leaving out the yet unfounded claims that Grissom had been kidnapped. "Anyway, there's an APB out on McKay and her car but so far no luck."

"Okay. So, where's Grissom now?"

Catherine thought about her words carefully. "It would seem he's gone after her."

"How do you mean? How can he have gone after her if you don't know where she is?"

Backed into a corner and unwilling to tell an outright lie, Catherine remained silent.

"Actually, don't answer that Catherine," Ecklie said offhandedly, his temper flaring. "Maybe there are some things I'm better off not knowing." He let out a weary breath. "Do you have any concrete evidence that Grissom _is_ pursuing this McKay?"

"No, we don't, but everything points in that direction."

"What a fool!" Ecklie bellowed suddenly, making Catherine jump in her seat. "What a stupid fool! As if I didn't have enough on my plate already without adding a runaway CSI to the list." He checked himself and took a deep breath. "Do you believe he's in danger?"

"Yes, I do," Catherine replied, her voice cracking under the strain. "Warrick's proc-searching Grissom's house as we speak but…" she shrugged the rest of her sentence off.

Ecklie's head was shaking in disbelief. "But you don't know anymore than I do," he sighed. "Well, that certainly explains Laura Sidle's frantic call to CSI earlier tonight when she couldn't get a hold of him on his cell; she's on her way over to Vegas from San Francisco. What a mess!" He paused in thought. "I assume you're pursuing all avenues of enquiry to locate them?"

Catherine nodded. "McKay's Thunderbird doesn't have a tracking device."

"Assuming they haven't dumped the car already. And of course, you're tracking Grissom's cell?"

Catherine let out a long breath. "That's the first thing we did but either his phone's off or he's out of range."

Ecklie gave a little snort. "Or he's deliberately keeping it off. I know which one I'm putting my money on. Okay," he said in a sigh before rubbing a tired hand over his face and checking his watch. "I don't think the sheriff wants to hear about this tonight. You got until the end of shift tomorrow to haul his ass in."

* * *

"Jim, wait up!" Catherine called through the trace lab open doorway. She was looking pale and frazzled, the strain showing. "You're looking for me?"

Brass stopped and turned. "No. I was on my way to Grissom's office. See what all the fuss is about."

Catherine smiled. "How's your head now?"

"Catherine, this isn't about me or my head. This is about Grissom and Sara. I'm going to be fine; your heard what the doctor said. Besides, the new stuff they put me on's working better. So I'll soldier on and you're going to stop fussing, all right? But I can't _not_ be here."

Catherine's small smile broadened. "Fair enough as long as you promise to take it easy."

"Yes, mom."

"You interviewed Wallis yet?" she then asked.

Brass shook his head. "We're letting him sweat a little longer. When he was booked in he refused to confirm his name so the custody officer printed him. He's not Martin Wallis; the fingerprints don't match and he's not in the system either. So we got no name. I've called Vartann in to do the interview but he's still at a scene out near Boulder City. However much I'd love to do it myself I can't and, judging by his use of the fifth so far, he's not going to willingly volunteer the information we want."

Catherine nodded her understanding. "I'd like to be there for the interview so give me a heads-up, all right?"

"You and me both," Brass replied before resuming walking. Catherine fell in step with him. "You spoke to Ecklie?" he then asked.

"Yeah. Remarkably, it went better than I expected."

"That's because you didn't tell him the whole truth."

Catherine lifted a shoulder in part-agreement. "I've a feeling he knows a lot more than he's letting on."

"That wouldn't surprise me. You don't get up the corporate ladder like Ecklie's doing without being shrewd…There you see," he told Catherine with a pleased smile, "the knock on the head wasn't that bad; I can still use big words if I choose to." To Catherine's small laugh, Brass gave a small shrug. "By the way," he then added, changing tack, "I just took a look at the CCTV picture from the hospital Warrick enhanced. It's her all right – Joanne McKay," he mused. "According to her file, she got away with incest because her nut job of a son decided to top himself the night before the hearing. How convenient."

Catherine nodded; she'd herself read the file on McKay meticulously. "Couldn't you find a judge to sign an arrest warrant for her?"

"Nope. And it wasn't for lack of trying, believe me but without any physical evidence the ABP's best I could do."

"She could be half-way to Mexico by now, with Grissom on her tail, hell-bent on revenge for what she did to Sara."

Brass's face darkened and he lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "Well, I figure she might stay local. We got her _boy_ in custody and she's got links to Reno. I informed my colleagues there and they're on the look-out. They said they'd keep an eye on the address we got for her there in case she shows. Incidentally that's the same address listed on Wallis's rap sheet."

"So they're long time friends."

"Wallis is about the same age as McKay's son. She likes them young; maybe she had the two of them on the go all along. Who knows?"

"She sounds a nasty piece of work," Catherine remarked as they stopped outside Grissom's office.

"That, she is." Catherine unlocked and opened the door. "Jesus," Brass exclaimed as he stepped in. He rubbed a hand over the back of his head. "No wonder you thought Grissom had killed the boy."

Catherine anxiously glanced out toward the corridor for prying ears and shut the door after them. "And this is only half of it. I was midway through taking the pictures down from the screens when I got a page from Hodges."

Brass stopped in front of Grissom's 'the-one-that-got-away' board, his gaze zooming in on the CCTV print-out of the two male suspects seen leaving Desert Breeze Park after Sara's attack. "What's this?" he asked.

Catherine turned, joining Brass's side. "It's a still taken from a security camera at Desert Breeze. It was taken two to three minutes after Sara's attack. Grissom's convinced these two males-"

Brass's head suddenly snapped round toward Catherine, his eyebrow cocked questioningly.

The rest of the sentence died on the CSI's lips and she turned two wide eyes toward the detective as the penny dropped. "If it's not Wallis in custody-"

"It's his friend here," Brass said pointing toward the boy on the left. "I'd bet my bottom dollar that this one's the one we got in custody and that this taller one's Wallis." Brass took the print-out down from the board and his cell out of his pocket. "I'm going to call Vartann again," he told Catherine, "see what the hold-up's about."

* * *

"Mrs Sidle?" Laura Sidle turned from the nurses' station on hearing her name to see a man extend his hand to her. Clutching an overnight bag, she was as pale as a sheet and looked like she had been crying. "I'm Paul Purcell, the hospital administrator."

"Oh." She shook the proffered hand weakly and then brought her hand up to her face to wipe a fresh tear from the corner of her eye. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me so late in the night," she whispered, her voice hoarse and sad. "I got here as soon as I heard."

Purcell smiled pleasantly, nodding. "It's no trouble at all. I wasn't expecting you until much later though."

"I managed to get myself a cancellation on an earlier flight." She paused and cleared the tears from her throat. "Can…can I see my daughter?"

"Of course. It's this way," Purcell said opening one hand toward the main ICU corridor and placing the other in the small of Laura's back, guiding her toward Sara's room.

"The nurses wouldn't tell me anything about Sara's condition bar the fact that she's critical."

"That's because I asked them not to," Purcell said matter-of-fact. "I wanted to talk to you myself."

"Mr Grissom said she's been involved in an accident? I've been trying to call him all afternoon and when I couldn't join him I assumed he was here at the hospital with Sara."

"How can I put this to you…hum, we haven't seen Mr Grissom since much earlier this morning. He's spent very little time at the hospital with Sara."

Taken aback Laura stopped walking. "Oh, I'm surprised. I thought…" She frowned, shaking off the rest of the sentence. "He called my place of work in Reno, early afternoon? He spoke to my friend who then contacted me but I really expected him to be here."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Sidle but Mr Grissom's not been the most cooperative person with us as regards Sara."

Laura pondered the hospital administrator's words for a moment and then cast a wary glance toward the corridor. "Could I…could I see Sara now?" Her emotion was getting the better of her and she choked on her words.

"Would you like me to talk you through her injuries first?"

Laura shook her head. "No. I just want to see my daughter. Please?"

"Of course." Purcell smiled. "We had to move her to a different room after the incident this afternoon and I got to warn you there is a police officer guarding the door at all times. It's merely a precaution, for her safety."

"What incident?"

Purcell sighed, hesitating. "It would appear that an intruder got into Sara's room. None of the equipment was touched," he hastened to add, "and Sara was unharmed but the police and CSI felt it would be safer for Sara if she was moved."

"Can you tell me what happened to her?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the exact details of the attack-"

"Attack?" Laura cut in with a gasp. "Mr Grissom said she'd been involved in an accident; he never mentioned she'd been attacked."

Purcell shrugged. "I understand from what little I heard on the news, that Sara was assaulted while she was running in her local park on Saturday evening. As I said, for more details you really need to speak with the police or Mr Grissom; he's the one who found her and brought her in." Purcell stopped outside Sara's room and nodded at the officer. "I must warn you," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "Sara's on life support and it can be daunting for family members to see their loved ones…"

But Laura wasn't listening any more and didn't hear a single word Purcell said. She just wanted to see Sara. Her Sara. her Sara that lay injured in a hospital bed. It had been such a long, long time. How she must have changed! She wanted to touch her, hold her and never let go. She wanted to hug her and kiss her better like she used to do when Sara was a little girl and she had hurt herself. She wanted to tell her that she was going to be okay, that it would pass. She was here now and she was going to make it all okay. That's what mothers do, right? They make it all go away. She wanted to explain and make up for lost time. She had thought of the day they would see each other again, rehearsed it in her head so many times, practised what she would say.

Suddenly Purcell's distant drone ceased, the door to Sara's room opening and Laura looked round toward the man, blinking uncertainly and visibly startled from her thoughts. She felt his guiding hand on the small of her back and then took a tentative step inside.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, rooted to the spot, "Sara…"

She dropped her travel bag by her feet and brought shaky hands to her mouth, in shock. At that moment, she realised that her daughter's condition was far worse than she could ever have anticipated and that she might not be able to say all the things she needed to say. Her heartbreak was plain to see and tears filled her eyes, running down her sunken cheeks. She began to tremble as she took in Sara's pale bandaged face, her inert form on the bed partially covered by the white starched bed sheet and the many tubes and machines keeping her alive.

"Oh, Sweetheart…" she murmured the word dying in mid air.

Her hands reached out toward the bed but Laura jerked them back uncertainly, looking round toward Purcell as though silently seeking permission to go and see her daughter, almost wondering whether she had a right to be there after what had happened, after all these years. When Purcell smiled compassionately, closing his eyes in a nod, she almost ran to Sara in her haste to see and touch her own flesh and blood. She registered a split second hesitation before clutching Sara's hand tightly in hers and bringing it close to her face. She closed her eyes, silent tears flowing freely into Sara's warm hand.

"Oh, Sara," she whispered choking back a sob, "Sweetheart, I am so sorry. So sorry." She leaned over the bed and buried her head in the crook of Sara's shoulder, her body racked with shattering sobs.

The hospital administrator closed the door quietly and watched silently as Laura wept, crumbling under the shock of seeing her daughter lying in that hospital bed, after almost twenty years of non-contact. After a long moment, as the last of her sobs seemed to subside she lifted her head off the bed and turned her tear-streaked, grief-stricken face toward him.

"Is she unconscious?" she asked in a whisper. "In a coma? Does she know I'm here?" She redirected her watery gaze on Sara and cried, "Sara, sweetie, it's mommy. Can you hear me? What is wrong with her?"

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: I couldn't think of anything worse for a mother than this. Well, I can, but it doesn't bear thinking about. I hope I managed to put across her shock and pain accurately.

I've been assured that while all this is going on, Grissom's safe and almost sound, sleeping off his hangover in the boot – sorry – trunk of the car. I'm also told that American car boots/trunks are very large and there's absolutely no risk of him suffocating. :-) As for the rest, you're going to have to wait a little longer; it's almost ready. Please, leave a review; they are greatly appreciated.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: As a treat, because you're so good to me. A little earlier than planned.

* * *

"Nick! Good, you're here," Catherine said as she popped her head inside the locker room. "Hodges said he'd seen you headed this way. You logged in your evidence already? Vartann's going to need-"

Sat on the bench in front of his locker, Nick startled, lifting his eyes from the picture he'd been staring at. There were tears in them and Catherine stopped talking abruptly.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, stepping fully into the room.

Nick swiped a hand over his eyes and nodded, his lips thinning into a small smile. He looked down at the photo in his hands and folded it neatly in two, following the existing crease in the middle of it.

"What's this?" Catherine asked, her brow furrowing.

The Texan paused in hesitation, his hand half-way to the breast pocket of his shirt. He gave a sigh and wordlessly handed Catherine the picture. She stared at Nick quizzically and then at the picture before carefully unfolding it open. The gasp she let out spoke volume and the wind knocked out of her, she sat heavily down onto the bench next to Nick. She couldn't take her eyes off the two smiling faces staring back at her, the pang of sadness suddenly tearing her heart hard to conceal. Shaky hands turned the picture over, a frown of confusion immediately creasing her brow further on seeing the date and place inscribed on the back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, visibly struggling to keep a semblance of composure.

"Where did you find this?" she asked hoarsely after a moment, finally finding her voice. "This was taken before Sara even moved to Vegas." She turned a questioning face toward Nick.

"We always knew they were friends way before she came," he answered quietly.

There was no mistaking the defensive undertone in his reply and Catherine registered a look of surprise before asking a little accusatorily, "Did you know about the two of them?"

Nick got to his feet, shaking his head softly in reply. "No," he murmured, "I didn't. It would seem their relationship came as a shock to everyone," he added a little bitterly. He glanced toward the doorway, hesitating. "I…huh…found it at Wallis's place. When I processed the bedroom."

Catherine's eyes widened in realisation and she turned her face back to the trembling photograph in her hands. "Oh, my God," she whispered aghast, in a long, dreary breath. "This means he_ really _was there."

"No," Nick said emphatically. "Wallis must have swiped it from Grissom's townhouse when he and McKay broke in yesterday. Kept it as a souvenir – like he did with Sara's iPod."

"If that's the case why didn't you put it in an evidence bag, huh? Have you at least dusted it for prints?"

Nick turned an icy glare at Catherine. "What, and find Griss and Sara's prints all over it? We already know it's theirs." His voice was rising in desperation. "The iPod should be enough to prove-"

"Of course it's not enough to prove anything," berated Catherine, getting to her feet. She was shaking. She checked herself and the door, lowering her voice. "Sara's attacker could have dumped the iPod after the assault and Wallis can say he found it at the park. You know that kind of evidence is circumstantial at best. What were you thinking?"

Nick turned away and opened his locker with a loud clang, silencing Catherine.

She sighed. "Nick, I know why you're doing this. I do. We're all worried about him especially now and I understand you want to cover for him but-"

"I made a promise," he cut in, keeping his back to her and his voice so low and so sad that Catherine stopped short in her tirade. "I made a promise to Sara. I promised her we'd watch over him." He turned round, his pain and heartache visible and he gave Catherine a small shrug. "Keeping that promise is the last thing I can do for her."

Catherine gave pause to what Nick had just said and finally nodded her head in understanding. Wasn't he doing the exact same thing she, herself, had done with Ecklie earlier that night? What they'd all been doing since the first moment they had set foot at Desert Breeze Park? Weren't all their actions born out of wanting to protect Grissom – their boss and leader but also their friend, one of their own?

Still staring at the photograph, Catherine's gaze flicked from Grissom's youthful and cheerful eyes to Sara's bright and happy smile. With a drawn-out sigh, she held it out to Nick. "You're right, Nicky," she said. "You keep it. You can return it to Grissom when we find him."

Nick looked surprised but then his face lit up with a smile and he nodded his head gratefully as he took the picture. Reverently brushing his fingers to it, he carefully folded it before putting it in the breast pocket of his shirt. Turning back to his locker, he said, "I thought I would put it in Sara's room at the hospital…until Grissom gets back and he goes to see her. So she's not worried or on her own."

Catherine gave Nick's arm an affectionate squeeze. "That's a nice idea. I'm sure she'll like that." She paused and smiled, catching his eyes in the mirror hanging off a hook inside his locker. "But unfortunately," she added, "it'll have to wait until the end of shift. I need you at a fatal traffic collision out in Summerlin."

Nick scoffed. "No rest for the wicked, hey?"

"That's what we do."

* * *

"So you're telling me there's no hope?" Laura gasped, big red-raw eyes once more brimming with tears turning toward Purcell. The latter nodded his head softly, his expression sorrowful and contrite. "Sara will never wake up? She will never take another breath on her own?" Tears ran down Laura's cheeks and she didn't bother wiping them anymore. "She will never be Sara again?" she managed to choke out.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs Sidle," the hospital administrator replied sadly. He paused with a sigh and brought a hesitant hand up to Laura's arm, trying to be comforting. "In the morning, you'll be able to talk to Dr Flanders, Sara's neurosurgeon, and he'll explain everything to you in a lot more detail but as I just told you, all the tests we carried out on Sara _are_ conclusive." He dropped his arm by his side. "There is no brain activity."

Laura stifled a sob and nodded her head, accepting the administrator's words for what they were. She did her best to keep control of her emotion but the flow of her tears was unremitting. She self-consciously averted her gaze to the floor and then back to the bed and onto Sara. She watched her daughter tenderly for a moment and then said, "But how can I explain to her that I did what I did all those years ago out of love for her and her brother? That I sacrificed my livelihood so they could be free? How can I tell her how sorry I am? How can I show her I never stopped caring and loving her all these years?"

"By respecting her wishes," Purcell simply said.

Laura didn't respond, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Her gaze was fixed on Sara's face, her hand grasping her daughter's tightly. Unconsciously, her lips pursed into a sad smile and she rubbed her fingers softly over the hard callus at the tip of Sara's middle finger.

"Would there be greater testament of your love for her than to respect her final wishes and grant her a peaceful death?" Purcell continued quietly. "Think about it. That's what Sara wanted; she couldn't have made it any clearer. That way, you'd allow her to live on through others by donating her organs. You'd be prolonging their lives, and hers through theirs. It is something Sara obviously believed strongly enough to have taken steps toward ensuring."

Laura turned her head slowly toward the hospital administrator and pinched her lips anxiously.

Purcell formed his lips into a comforting smile. "You're her next-of-kin, her mother; who else has she got to speak for her now?" Sensing he was wearing finally down the last of the woman's resolve, he literally delivered his coup-de-grâce. "Sara's brain is dead, Mrs Sidle – regrettably. And medically, there is nothing more we can do for her."

Laura stared silently at Purcell for a long time, occasionally wiping a rogue tear from her face before finally nodding her head in understanding. She turned to glance at Sara. "Could I have some time with her alone, please? I need a little time. I need to think things through. I need-"

"I know it's a lot to take in, Mrs Sidle," Purcell said. "Take as much time as you need. You can spend as much time with Sara now as you wish." Laura turned a grateful gaze at the administrator. "I'll have a word with her nurse," he added, "let her know it's all right for you to stay the night."

"Thank you. I appreciate what you've done for Sara – you seem to have her best interests at heart."

Purcell nodded, refraining himself from replying, "It's my job." Instead, he said, "Is there anything you need?" Her back to him, Laura shook her head no. "I'll be back in the morning then with Dr Flanders."

* * *

Grissom woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open uncertainly, once again staring at total darkness. Almost immediately the events of the last twenty four hours came flooding back, a feeling of doom descending upon him as he lay bound in his make-shift steel coffin. He hadn't been aware of falling asleep but the pitch darkness, the drone of the engine and the soft rocking of the moving car had been hard to resist.

He licked his dry lips, desperate for water and tried to stretch his stiff body within the confined space of the trunk of the car. The pain that shot through from his side hurt like hell, paralysing him into stillness. He let out a weary breath and scrunched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth until the pain passed lest he should alert McKay to the fact that he had awoken.

Suddenly he startled, his eyes – well, one eye – snapping open in fear as a jolt of adrenaline coursed through his body. Something was happening. Something that inexplicably sent shivers down his spine. He could just feel it. It was just too quiet. His heart pounding loudly in his chest he concentrated all his senses. The car started rolling. It was moving slowly and yet the engine made no sound. Panic set in further as he realised that the car wasn't rolling after all but rocking, swaying from side to side as though shaken.

_Oh, God,_ he thought. _Maybe they're dumping the car down a cliff and me in it, locked in the trunk and with no way of escaping._

If the car exploded, he would be blown into oblivion without a trace. His survival instincts suddenly kicked in, a desperate plan taking shape in his fuzzy mind. His escape was simple; there was only one way out. Screaming for help would be futile – he knew that. Instead, adrenaline and thoughts of seeing Sara again fuelling his frantic and erratic movement, he began twisting himself out of his bounds, wincing as they painfully cut into his wrists and ankles trying as he might to free himself. They were tied tightly and there was no give in them.

Out of the blue, he heard laughter and voices and he froze. He wondered whether McKay and Wallis were stood watching from the sideline, laughing at his doomed efforts to escape while the car rolled down the embankment. But instead of the explosion he expected he got an explosion of a different kind. The rocking of the car intensified, quickly followed by greedy and lust-filled moans and groans and torrid screams of ecstasy that seemed to fill his space and his head completely.

_Jesus, can my life get any worse? _Fighting the bile rising in his throat he closed his eyes again, cringing at the awful and disgusting thought of McKay having sex. And yet, he smiled as he realised that for once the depravity of the human race might work to his advantage._ Come on, buddy. Now's your chance while they're otherwise engaged._

His hands behind his back and the adrenaline stifling the pain caused by his injuries, he shuffled round onto his front. Then he slowly brought his legs up underneath him so his backside was sticking up in the air. He pushed upward against the trunk lid as hard as he could in an attempt to dislodge the catch and force it open. But the throbbing coming from his ribs became so unbearable that Grissom collapsed back down onto himself, panting and agonising.

As he had feared, the trunk was locked shut and wouldn't budge. Grissom suddenly let out a pained growl as his left leg ceased up in a cramp. He bit his lips to bleeding point to stop himself from making a sound and listened intently for signs that they had heard him. But judging by the increasingly louder and more passionate grunts coming from the front of the cab, McKay wasn't quite finished yet. At least her raucousness seemed to drown out any sound he may have made.

_Come on, Gil, you can do this. Think of Sara._

Shifting position to ease the cramping, he wiggled about, rotating round until he could stretch his legs out a little. As he did so, he kicked his bound feet against a plastic object. He took a look over his shoulders and down toward his feet and made out the glow of the car's left taillights whose protective cover had come loose. Grissom smiled to himself as a new plan formed in his brain.

He pushed his feet against the plastic cover as hard as he could and gave small kicks, in order to break the cover off completely and expose the car's light bulbs. Smashing or loosening the bulbs might attract a keen highway patrolman into pulling the car over. It was a long shot but what alternative did he have? And before long, he heard the soft, muffled and very gratifying sound of a bulb smashing.

He was easing himself into a more comfortable position, preparing himself for a long wait when he felt something hard and square dig into his right buttock. He frowned and groped blindly behind his back at the trunk carpeting, hoping he would find a small tool of some sort he could use to cut his ties or maybe hide and use against his attackers at a later stage. Frustratingly, he found nothing. Just as he was about to give up, a soft voice whispered in his ear.

_Your phone, Gil! _

A second rush of adrenaline pulsed through him as he carefully slipped the fingers of his right hand into his back pocket and indeed felt his phone. He took his time, allowing for the slight delay between his brain giving command and his body responding. Grabbing the phone with the tip of two fingers, he slowly pulled it out of his back pocket. One false move and he would drop the phone behind him and waste valuable time. McKay's screams were getting louder and he could even make out the faint grunts of a male voice.

_They're reaching their crescendo. You can't have much time left. Come on, buddy, think back. Did you switch the phone back on?_

He pressed a key, a random key and contorted himself as he peered through his good eye and over his shoulder into the dark trunk. Without his glasses and with one eye completely swollen shut, he couldn't make out much more than the faint glow of the phone screen. Now the question was, depending on his location, would he get a strong enough signal to make a call and how would he get the phone to his mouth so he could speak into it without being overheard?

_If the phone's been on all this time, surely Catherine will have put a trace on it! _

He briefly contemplated calling 911 but the details would take too long to explain. He could send a text message but he doubted his present ability to press the correct keys from memory. Besides, that might take longer than he had. In the end, for want of something better, he felt a shaky finger over the keypad and blindly pressed a key hoping he had speed dialled Brass or Catherine or one of his team.

He heard a faint ring tone and closed his eyes his lips curling into a slight smile, thanking whatever God was watching over him. His heart began a louder dance in wishful anticipation. He counted to three and flipped the phone over his body so that it landed the right way up on the flat of the trunk directly in front of him. In his head, it was a simple and foolproof plan. He heard the quiet thud of the phone as it landed and found that not only the Gods were watching over him but they were smiling too. He inched himself a little nearer the device and lifted his head, bringing his ear to the phone. It was still ringing. He exhaled a small breath of relief unable to believe his luck.

_Please, pick up. Somebody, pick up._

"You've reached Sara," Sara's cheery voice replied. "I'm too busy to take your call right now so leave a message after the tone and I'll get back to you."

Tears filled Grissom's eyes, the sudden, overwhelming pang of sadness in his heart too much to bear.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: I really, really want to know who you loathe more now right now: McKay or the hospital administrator? By the way, I couldn't have written him any sleazier if I tried; I imagined Ecklie and went from there. ;-)

More soon?


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Originally, this next scene belonged to the previous chapter but it got way too long. It takes place simultaneously with the scene where Grissom's stuck in the boot of McKay's car while she's having her…how can I put it…fun. I hope you enjoy reading this next chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know.

* * *

"Good, you're here; they're about to start," Brass told Catherine as she arrived.

Catherine nodded and turned toward the two-way mirror, her gaze immediately drawn to their scrawny suspect. Sat down next to a court-appointed attorney, a man she had come across a few times in the past, the suspect was looking down at his feet, the fingers of his right hand restlessly tapping on the table in tune with his right leg, which continuously jerked up and down in nervous spasms.

"Any idea on his ID yet?" Catherine asked.

Brass smiled. "Oh, yes."

Catherine turned, waiting for Brass to elaborate but the police captain didn't. Shrugging, she said, "Warrick's on his way over; he'll take the sample of the boy's DNA."

"You didn't want to do that yourself?"

"You mind?"

"No. No, no," Brass replied a little surprised and giving Vartann a nod of the head as the latter walked past.

They watched through the mirror as file in hand, Vartann entered the interview room, had a word with the officer at the door and leisurely put the file down on the table. He acknowledged the attorney with a nod, pulled the chair back from the table and took a seat.

"Before we start," he told the suspect, "For the record, can you confirm your name and date of birth?"

The finger tapping stopped. "No comment."

Vartann shared a look with the attorney, who remained silent. Unfazed, he opened the manila envelope, took out a few sheets, which he placed neatly in front of him. "Okay," he began, scanning his gaze over the top sheet, "Memory loss is very common after a stint in a police jail – even a brief one such as yours. Let me help you with that." He caught and held Jimmy's gaze, and smiled. "Your name is James Tyler Wallis. You were born on the 25th of June 1988 in St Mary's Medical Centre in Reno, Nevada. Which makes you almost nineteen and old enough for a stay at the state prison. Both your parents are deceased but you have a brother," Vartann consulted his notes, "one Martin Samuel Wallis." He looked up and met Jimmy's gaze dead on, his lips pursing into an intimidating smile. "I know plenty about him too. Would you like me to continue?"

Jimmy remained silent and folded his arms over his chest defensively, looking down as he did so.

"Okay," Vartann went on. "So, now that we're clear on who's who, we can make a start." He produced another sheet and pretended to read over the details. "What happened at the house before Captain Brass and CSI got there?" His eyes lingered over the bruising on Jimmy's throat. "Why were you hiding in the shed?"

On hearing that, Brass let out a low growl. "What are you doing, Tony?" he muttered under his breath. "Why don't you stick to the script?"

Jimmy looked at his attorney, who nodded his head indicating that the boy should proceed, and then back at Vartann. He waited a beat, then sighed and blurted out in one breath, "Some dude came into the house while I was in the shower. He wore a ski mask and had me at gun point. I thought he was robbing the place. I passed out. When I woke up, he was gone. Then, I heard a car pull up outside. I thought he'd changed his mind and come back to finish me off so I bolted. I grabbed some pants and sneakers and went out the back door. I hid in the shed-"

"And the rest as they say is history," Vartann cut in quietly, clapping his hands deliberately slowly at Jimmy's display. "Wow, truly fascinating. It even sounded…true." Smiling, Vartann shook his head in disbelief and consulted his notes.

On the other side of the mirror, Brass relaxed visibly.

"What I don't get though," Vartann went on, "is why you stayed hidden even after you knew that this 'dude' hadn't returned. Surely the police sirens gave the game away, didn't they?" he asked calmly. "And besides, Captain Brass clearly identified himself. There was no way of mistaking him with this 'dude' in a ski mask. Are there any reasons you didn't want the police to find you?"

"Nah, nothing," Jimmy said a little too casually, shifting in his seat. He brought a hand up to rub the wound on his ear. "After what happened to Marty I don't trust the Police, that's all." He paused in thought. "I didn't mean to hit the cop like that but I was shit scared and I panicked."

"Okay. Fair enough. We get that a lot. I'm sure it'll go some way toward appeasing Captain Brass." Vartann glanced at the two-way mirror, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Brass shook his head, snorting in amusement. Vartann quickly returned his attention to Jimmy and took out another sheet from his folder. He put the still from the CCTV footage from Desert Breeze Park down on the table and turned it round very slowly so it faced Jimmy.

Jimmy's eyes flicked to the photograph, then back to Vartann and finally down to his lap. The nervous leg spasms seemed to intensify.

"Do you recognise the two people on this photograph?" the police detective then asked.

Jimmy's attorney frowned and leaned forward to take a look at the picture. He placed a hand on his client's arm and said, "Actually James, don't answer that." He looked up toward Vartann. "I thought my client was remanded in custody on charges of assault on Captain Brass, which he doesn't deny. This here," he said, waving toward the picture, "has nothing to do with that."

Vartann turned his gaze onto the attorney and smiled. "You're absolutely right." He then stared at Jimmy, his eyes icy cold and penetrating. "And you can rest assured," he told Jimmy, an edge to his tone, "that Captain Brass is going to make a full recovery. Sara Sidle on the other hand won't be so lucky."

The attorney's frown deepened in confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Vartann ignored the attorney's well-intentioned query and continued. "You see, Jimmy, can I call you Jimmy?" Jimmy's gaze was locked to his lap and he remained silent. "You see Jimmy, the reason Captain Brass was out looking for you at your house is because we think you may have information that could help us identify and catch Sara's attackers." He paused, hoping his underhand tactic would entice a reaction from Jimmy. When none came, he shook his head, clicking his tongue in over-dramatic, disapproving 'tuts' and nudged the photograph forward closer to Jimmy. "You're not helping yourself, Jimmy. Let me ask you again. Do you recognise the two people on this photograph?"

Jimmy made the mistake of looking up toward Vartann. The detective's gaze was so intense that Jimmy nodded dumbly in reply.

"Yes, that's right," Vartann said, catching the attorney's eye meaningfully. "It's you and your brother Martin at Desert Breeze Park at the time of the assault on Sara Sidle on Saturday afternoon." He pointed at the date and time stamp at the bottom of the document.

"Okay, we were there. And? It doesn't prove anything," Jimmy said turning toward his counsel. The man remained silent.

At that moment, Warrick entered the room. Murmuring his apology, he moved to stand by the door. Vartann acknowledged the CSI's arrival with a nod and then resumed his questioning. "Why were you at the park?"

"We...took a walk?"

"Are you asking or telling me?"

Jimmy twitched a hesitant shoulder in reply.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," Vartann said. "I got enough evidence to put you away for a long time. You see, we recovered Sara Sidle's iPod from your house with your prints on them." Jimmy's counsel was about to open his mouth and argue the point when Vartann silenced him with, "I know, in itself it doesn't prove anything, merely circumstantial blah, blah, blah but it was enough to get a warrant and compel a sample of your client's DNA." He produced a warrant sheet, which he handed to the attorney, redirected his gaze onto Jimmy and pointed toward the wound on his ear. "What are the chances that _your_ DNA will match the DNA we recovered from under Sara's fingernails?"

Wide-eyed, Jimmy covered his ear with his hand and looked at his counsel, silently pleading for help.

The attorney shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "He's right; you've no choice but to comply and give them a sample of your DNA." Looking more and more anxious, Jimmy squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, sweating bullets.

Warrick took his cue. He pushed himself off the wall and walked to the table, on which he placed his kit. He was looking tense, his face shut off. He stared at Jimmy for a moment as though trying to place him. Then he shook his head, shaking the idea off, took out a swab box from his kit and extracted a stick. "It won't hurt," he told Jimmy before waving the stick back and forth in the air in a swabbing motion. "Just open wide."

Jimmy looked at the attorney again but the man nodded his head and the boy complied. As Warrick recapped the sample and placed it back in the box, Jimmy asked, "What does this mean?"

There was a beat that lasted the exact amount of time it took Warrick to lose his temper and get in the boy's face. "This means, jackass that you're going to do some hard time in a state facility," the CSI butted in, his tone hard and cold, "for what you did to Sara. She almost died because of you!" Vartann gave him a hard stare and Warrick turned away toward Catherine and Brass on the other side of the mirror, took a deep calming breath and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Catherine's head was shaking. "And this is exactly the reason why I didn't want to do it," she told Brass in an exasperated sigh. "I thought, of all of us, Warrick would have the most self-control."

Brass grumbled something in reply but kept his eyes steadfast on Warrick, who couldn't of course see them through the mirror. He let out a breath. "It doesn't matter," he told her at last. "We got this son of a bitch for what he did to Sara. There's no way he can wriggle himself out of that one."

"Isn't there?" Catherine asked meaningfully, returning her gaze to the interview room.

The attorney stared crossly at Warrick but waited until the CSI had finished labelling the swab box and packing up his kit before asking Vartann, "Are you charging my client for the assault on Sara Sidle?"

"In a moment we will, yes," replied the detective. "But before, I got a few more questions for him." Vartann shifted on his seat, leaning forward and placing his palms down on the table until he loomed tall over Jimmy.

Jimmy self-consciously crossed his arms over his chest, shrinking down in the chair.

"We _know_ your brother's involved," Vartann told Jimmy. "He was with you at the park and we recovered his DNA at Sara Sidle's house too. And now he's on the run, leaving _you_ to face us and fifteen to twenty years in jail on your own. But he's _not_ on his own, is he? He's keeping cosy and warm with…" he paused for effect "…Joanne. Joanne McKay?" He smiled, shrugging at the shocked expression on Jimmy's face. "We got her prints from your house and she was already in the system, wasn't she?"

"She didn't do any of the things she was accused of," Jimmy defended heatedly. "It was right she got off."

"And more to the point, that got rid of a little competition," Vartann argued calmly. "With her son out of the picture, it's only the two of you vying for her affections. And Martin, well he's family so it doesn't count. What's mine is yours and all that." Vartann paused and smiled. "But let me ask you this…if you're in jail, locked up for twenty-five years, it's only him and her, isn't it? The two of them riding out in the sunset together? Think about all the good time you're going to miss out on."

That hit the spot just right and Jimmy crumbled pathetically. "Twenty-five years? I can't do that kind of time-what's going to happen to me?"

"Oh, he's good," Catherine enthused as she watched Vartann's performance with rapt fascination. "He's very good."

Brass nodded solemnly. "He's learnt from the best."

A smile pulled at the corners of Catherine's mouth. "I have no doubt."

"He'll make a good captain some day."

"I don't know where they've gone," Jimmy was now saying. "Honest to God, I don't."

"You got to help yourself, Jimmy. Twenty-five years is a long time. She's still got a place in Reno; could they have gone there?"

Jimmy shrugged in ambivalence. He rubbed a shaky hand over his eyes before looking at his attorney. "Is there a way we can make a deal?" he asked him before turning back toward Vartann quizzically.

"You know that's not how it works," the detective replied. "But if you cooperate with us the judge might go easier on you."

"What about in exchange for my silence?" Jimmy asked.

Vartann's brow furrowed uncertainly and he glanced at Jimmy's counsel and then at Brass through the mirror. "How do you mean?"

Jimmy shrugged again and straightened up in his chair. "I mean…that maybe now that I'm thinking about it…I might know the identity of the _dude _that attacked me."

"Yeah? And how is that going to help you?"

Jimmy smiled, his eyes widening dramatically. "He's a cop," he said, popping the final 'p' of cop like bubblegum.

"Shit," Brass muttered under his breath.

Vartann smirked. "We've heard that one before; you're going to have to come up with something better, pal."

Jimmy's glance flicked to his attorney and then back to Vartann. "Isn't it worth a deal? Don't you want to know his name?"

Vartann got to his feet and gathered his documents. "I've heard enough. If you're not prepared to help us, that's fine. We'll find your two acolytes some other way."

Jimmy nodded toward the CCTV picture Vartann had in his hand and was about to put away. "It's her boyfriend."

Vartann hid his sudden unease behind a professional smile, his gaze flicking to the mirror. "How convenient." He shook his head in disbelief and put the photo away.

"I swear to you, man, it's the truth," Jimmy protested.

"That's a serious allegation you're making," Vartann remarked. "You got any proof to substantiate it?"

Caught out Jimmy paused, looked at his attorney and then shook his head. "I know it was him," he insisted but with less assurance.

"You _know_ it was him?" Vartann exclaimed in incredulity. "Come on, you said it yourself, the man wore a ski mask. He had you at gun point; you were scared. You weren't thinking straight." He paused and glanced at Warrick, fully aware that it was far too early in the proceedings for his next comment to be substantiated. "Besides, the only set of prints CSI recovered from your house, were yours, your brother's and McKay's. Nobody else's."

"He wore gloves."

"There was no sign of forced entry," Vartann continued as though Jimmy hadn't spoken, "no signs of struggle." Jimmy opened his mouth to retort but Vartann didn't pause for breath. "I tell you what I think happened," he said. "You heard us coming; you went out the back way and hid in the shed. You made up this 'dude' story to justify you hitting Captain Brass on the head with a shovel and by the same token get us off your scent on the Sidle case."

"I just got it," Warrick suddenly exclaimed. All eyes turned toward the CSI, who quickly bounced off the wall and moved threateningly to Jimmy. "I've been trying to place you. And it just clicked; you're the kid who put me onto that CCVT footage." Warrick's gaze was hard and he stared at the boy with confusion. "Why would you incriminate yourself like that?"

"Because he's stupid?" Catherine hazarded before giving a start as Brass's cell came to life. She turned her head, watching as the captain cursed under his breath and without taking his eyes off Wallis, scrambled for the phone in his pocket.

"Brass," he replied curtly, blindly connecting the call. There was a slight pause, Brass's face scrunched in concentration. He brought the receiver closer to his ear and whipped an anxious gaze toward Catherine. "Gil!" he exclaimed loudly into the phone. "Where the hell are you?"

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. This isn't what you wanted to read but…I loved writing Vartann here and I got carried away and hopefully tied a few loose ends and no doubt created a few more. I hope I did Vartann justice.

More Grissom and his cavorting chums in the next chapter, I promise. :-) Actually, maybe I shouldn't have put a smiley face there…so far, it's not pretty.


	34. Chapter 34

"Brass."

Grissom closed his eyes, heaving a great sigh of relief that he had at long last succeeded in making contact. Punching his nose and then his tongue on the keypad had been rather hit-and-miss, to say the least. "Jim?" he whispered leaning his face as close to the phone as he could physically manage it. "It's me, Grissom."

"Gil?" came Brass's frantic voice. "Where the hell are you?"

Grissom gave a small snort of disbelief as he considered his reply. "I'm in the trunk of McKay's car," he said at last.

"What? Gil, the connection's not good. You're following McKay's car?"

Grissom closed his eyes and swallowed. His throat felt tight and dry, the words catching. "No, Jim. I'm in the trunk of McKay's car," he whispered as loud as he could, enunciating each word clearly.

"Jesus, Gil, what happened?" The line was bad and Brass's voice kept breaking up. "Are you injured?"

"Joanne McKay," Grissom said into the phone, his voice a low, hoarse murmur. "She's the one-"

"We know, Gil. We know," Brass shouted to make himself heard. "We're on her tails. Hang on, I'm headed outside; see if the reception's better."

Unable to hear Brass clearly, Grissom tried to lean his ear closer to the phone but Brass's voice came in waves. "Listen Jim, there's something you ought to know. I did something stupid; I went to McKay's house. I compromised the case and all the evidence you'll find there and I-"

"We know about that," Brass interrupted, his voice a little clearer now. "We found the boy; we've got him in custody. Vartann's doing the interview as we speak."

This gave Grissom pause.

"Gil? You still there? I can't hear you very well. Just give me your location and we'll come for you -Gil?" Brass called anxiously. "Gil?"

Grissom knew he didn't have long before he either lost the signal on his phone or McKay finished, and by the sound of things she wasn't far off. "McKay's not on her own," he said at last. "She's with Jimmy's brother, Martin Wallis. They're armed and dangerous. I don't know where they're taking me but she's still got an address out in Reno." He paused to scratch his itchy nose on his shoulder. The noise and rocking coming from the front of the car suddenly stopped causing Grissom to stop short, his senses on alert. He heard Wallis's voice and then McKay's laugh and the car began swaying again. He breathed a quick sigh of relief. "Jim? Jim, are you still there?" The phone was silent. "Jim," he whispered loudly. "Can you still hear me?"

"… still here but I'm only catching every other word."

"Jim, listen to me. I haven't got long. What time is it?"

"What?"

"What time is it?" Grissom grit a little louder. "I can't make out the time on this damn phone!"

"A little before 11.30."

"am?"

"Jesus, Gil, no! pm. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Grissom replied, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to do some quick maths. "I think we've been on the road for about four to five hours. They took the freeway or the interstate out of Vegas. I was drunk when they found me and she drugged me but I know for a fact we stopped for gas on the way. Get Archie to triangulate the call and Warrick to map out itineraries out of Vegas accordingly and work out-"

"Gil, you're breaking up again…Catherine, this is useless." There was a pause and Grissom thought he could make out Catherine's voice in the background. "Are you injured?" Brass asked finally.

"I'm okay."

"What?"

"I'll survive," Grissom replied. He heard Brass repeat that, presumably appeasing Catherine. "Listen, Jim," he then said, "I ought to go. Get Archie to trace my phone. If I managed to call out he should be able to-"

Out of the blue, he heard a key being slotted into the trunk lock and froze, his words to Brass hanging in midair. Unfortunately, it was too late for him to feign unconsciousness. The trunk was immediately yanked open, the strong beam of a flashlight sweeping the interior, settling on his face and causing him to avert his eyes painfully down toward his exposed cell phone. The cool night air rushed in and Grissom repressed a shiver. His heart beating in his mouth, he inched forward as inconspicuously as he could until he hoped he cast a shadow over the phone, hiding it from plain view.

On finding Grissom awake, McKay shook her head in mock-disapproval, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. "I thought I'd heard moaning and groaning coming from the trunk," she said with laughter in her voice. "How's the head? Sore?" She paused. "And your face…look at it! Not that'll make much of a difference to Sara of course; she'll never know."

Hoping that Brass was able to listen in to the conversation and knowing that by now, Catherine had put a trace on the phone, Grissom decided that the best way forward was to stall for time and garner as much information as possible. Ignoring McKay's taunts, he glanced up toward Wallis and found him wearing a stupid, sex-filled grin. The younger man's shirt was crumpled and unbuttoned, the sides flapping in the wind; sweat glistened on his skin and strands of greasy hair had worked their way loose out of the ponytail, sticking to his face.

Under Grissom's cold gaze, Wallis's grin turned to a mean scowl and he swung the beam of his light straight at Grissom's eyes, smirking as the CSI averted his gaze with a pained wince toward McKay, meeting the woman's gaze dead-on. She stood in the shadow but a thin sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead, her hair dishevelled and her eyes twinkling mischievously as she sucked on her post-coital cigarette like there was no tomorrow.

"Where are we?" Grissom asked.

McKay waited until she had exhaled the last of her smoke to reply. "Does it matter?"

"Where are you taking me?" Grissom tried, wary of arousing suspicion if he asked too many pointed questions.

"You'll see," she said at last, looking a little edgy. "It's not much further now. A couple of hours at the most, then you'll be able to stretch. It's real cosy and nice there – isolated too." She tried a smile and took another quick drag of her cigarette. "I'll keep you safe."

"What do you want with me?"

McKay lifted a shoulder in a casual and almost demure shrug. "I'm not sure yet," she replied in an exhale of smoke as she tilted her head up toward the starry sky. "It depends." She shared a look with her companion and then flashed Grissom an evil smile. "Did you have fun just now? Did you enjoy our little…romp?"

Grissom whipped his head down but not before McKay noticed the look of pure disgust that suddenly twisted his face.

She grinned. "Did it turn you on?"

Grissom made himself meet her gaze, his one-eyed stare as hard and cold as he could make it. His folded legs throbbed with cramps; his arms and shoulders felt agonisingly stiff, held back by plastic binds that cut the blood flow to his hands and feet. Holding his head up hurt like hell, the shooting pain radiating from his ribs every time he did so barely bearable. And yet, he would make himself do it. He would think of Sara and grind his teeth. He would not let McKay win and think she had control over him. He understood the mind games she was playing. He fought to control the feelings of anger, hate and repulsion running through his body and threatening to boil over. He would keep a lid on them and not take the bait and play into her hands. What was the point of fuelling McKay's egotistical perversion?

"Did it make you long for Sara?" she was now asking. "Did it make you yearn for her touch?"

Immense longing and pain seeped through his guard as he recalled Sara's cheery voice on her voicemail message a moment ago and he dropped his gaze. Was that all he had left of Sara? Her recorded voice on a machine?

Guessing at his torment, McKay let out a chilling, raucous laugh and took a long final drag of her cigarette, the red embers glowing like a beacon in the dark roadside night. "You're so transparent," she told Grissom disdainfully, flicking the butt to the ground. "Did you think I didn't know you were awake?" Her lips pouted. "I put on the show just for you; I got turned on just thinking about you listening in."

The gaze Grissom lifted was pure hatred. "You disgust me," he spat.

She smirked. "I expected you to show more fight, more spunk. Maybe you're just too old." She paused in thought and stated, "I could just kill you right now, of course – put you out of your misery, like an old horse nobody wants or needs."

"Oh, but you won't."

McKay had found a match in Grissom and she smiled, clearly enjoying the situation. At length, she shrugged, happy to concede the point. "You're right; I won't."

Out of the blue, something caught McKay's eye. A shadow crossed her face and her smile lost some of its sparkle, her eyes darkening ominously. She snatched the light out of Marty's hand and swung it low into the trunk of the car directly onto Grissom's cell. Leaning forward she threw Marty a dirty look of reprimand and picked up the cell, checking the name on the display.

Grissom opened his mouth to alert Brass to the fact that they were rumbled but he was too late. Realising his mistake, Marty smacked the back of his hand across the CSI's face, shutting him up.

McKay laughed into the phone. "Well, well, well, if it isn't good old Kojak himself. Long time, no see, Captain Brass. Did _you_ like what you heard?"

Not bothering to listen to Brass's rude reply, she jabbed her finger over the keypad, turning the phone off. She waved the cell teasingly at Grissom's face and then tossed it as far as she could into a nearby alfalfa field. "Let them trace the call," she told him in a snort. "We're in the middle of nowhere; good luck to them."

"It's only a matter of time before they catch up with you," Grissom said with a confidence he wasn't quite feeling. He was breathing hard, fresh blood seeping from the side of his mouth. "They got one of your boys already; I made sure of that. They'll get him talking. I did."

"He won't tell them anything. He doesn't know about this place I'm taking you to."

"I've got a good team," he continued, "the best. They won't be far behind."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" She laughed and tossed her hair back from her face. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"They'll hunt you down," Grissom insisted, "and get you to crawl out of whatever crummy hole you're hiding in. You won't get away with it this time." Grissom was panting, his words coming out in staccato. "This time they'll put you away – put you away for good, for life. For Sara's life."

McKay's brow was arched in interest, Grissom's threats washing right over her. "Not for yours?" she asked.

"You don't scare me, McKay. I've nothing more to lose. There's nothing you can do to me that-"

"Nothing?" McKay interrupted with a sulky pout. "You mean that I've already hurt you where it hurts the most?" She laughed and then lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "Maybe. I just wish I could have been there to see it when it happened."

"You're a coward, McKay. You feel no shame, no respect for life. You got him and his brother to do your dirty work for you-"

McKay was beginning to look bored with the situation. "Yeah, well, you're in the trunk of my car, so I win," she said, putting an end to the conversation. She turned toward Marty. "Come on, we're going." Marty nodded his head and put his hand on the trunk of the Thunderbird ready to slam it shut.

"I need to take a leak," Grissom said.

"What do you think, Angel?" McKay asked Marty. "Can we trust him? Or is he going to try and make a run for it?"

Marty's lips twitched into an evil smile. "I'd enjoy the chase," he replied meaningfully, his hand moving to the gun in the small of his back.

McKay laughed. "I'm sure you would. But not yet, hey sweetie? Not until I'm done with him." She turned back toward Grissom. "No can do. You'll have to wait…or maybe you can't anymore. At your age, prostate's a bitch." She smiled wickedly and winked. "Pee yourself," she said, "I'm very much looking forward to cleaning you up afterwards."

"It's all about humiliation with you, isn't it?" Grissom stated quietly, unwilling to show McKay she was getting to him. He nodded his head toward Wallis meaningfully. "There's no love in your actions, no affection or care. You just like the power, the sexual gratification that sex, forced sex even provides. It's all about violence and control. You get off on it…you're totally unable to connect with another human being without-"

"I'm connecting with you," she snapped.

"Oh, but you're not, are you? You'll never be able to connect with the likes of me. Him," Grissom added with a disdainful look at Marty, "his brother, your son, certainly. But me, never." He turned his stare on Marty. "What has she got on you that makes you so loyal to her depravity?"

"Shut up," Marty grunted. "Shut the fuck up!" He whipped his hand behind his back and the gun out of the waistband of his jeans, and waved it menacingly toward Grissom.

Grissom's words seemed to get to McKay who nevertheless kept a brave face and even managed a small smile, however twisted and discomfited. She placed a calming hand on Marty's arm. "Don't listen to him, Angel; he's only trying it on." She turned to Grissom. "Have you quite finished? Are you trying to elicit a reaction, is that it? Rattle me? Into what? Letting you go? Or maybe, killing you?" She scoffed and paused, the words 'killing you' hanging heavy between them. "Remember _I'm_ the one in control, here. I have all the power. I've dealt with a lot worse than you in my time. You, my dear, are a pussy cat. I know all about the psycho babble crap you can come up with. I've heard it all before and it washes right over me. But you can rest assured that you shall live to see another day – and another one, and another one after that – as long as it takes for them to pull the plug on Sara." Her face turned solemn. "Your dearest Sara _will _die and you won't be there."

Incensed by her words, Grissom growled with frustration as he fruitlessly tried to twist himself out of his binds. "You're sick-"

"And when she's dead," she continued quietly, talking over his words, "you'll beg me to kill you too, so you can die and be with her. And I won't grant you your wish."

Grissom was running out of retorts and out of strength, McKay's words slicing right through his heart. He was breathless and beaten, his aching body begging him for a reprieve. He trusted his team, his friends and their ability to get him out of McKay's clutches before it was too late. He stared at McKay and then slowly nodded his head, seemingly accepting of his fate. What else could he do in the present situation?

Smiling in victory, McKay nodded back but then her eyes darken ominously. Grissom's heart missed a beat as fear flooded him. Eyes steadfast on her prisoner, she handed the flashlight to Marty and leaned over the opening of the trunk obscuring Grissom's vision until all he could make out was her twisted evil face. She smiled then, a sight that sent shivers down his spine and reached down a gentle hand to the side of his face. Unable to move, Grissom jerked his head back away from her, twisting it out of reach until he hit the back seat of the car.

With nowhere to go he held her gaze bravely as she slowly stroked two soft fingers down his bearded cheek to the corner of his mouth. He fought to keep his expression as neutral as he could but couldn't help swallow the lump in his throat. She leaned over even closer, so close that Grissom could feel her breath on him and smell the tobacco on it, so close that for a moment he thought she would kiss him on the mouth.

Panicked, he desperately tried twisting his head away but could not avoid her touch. "Don't you fucking touch me!" he barked at her, his glare as mean as her own.

Her face softened and she laughed, moving back a little. "Don't be so touchy," she teased in a whisper. "You have a little spit…just here," she added, wiping the side of his mouth, relishing the look of humiliation that despite his best effort immediately registered on Grissom's face.

She was moving back, a smug smile on her face, when out of the blue Grissom lifted two icy cold blue eyes at her and spat in her face.

It took a second for McKay to register what had just happened. Dumbstruck, she brought her hand up and felt shaky fingers to where Grissom's bloody spit had landed, before looking at those with disgust. Her eyes suddenly turned wild and she raised that same hand up, about to slap him in the face. Grissom instinctively whipped his head away but the blow never came. Instead, he felt her cold hand land on his chin as she roughly tilted his head up and round.

"Shine the light on his neck," she instructed Marty. She peered intently for a moment and when the beam illuminated Grissom's silver chain her lips curled evilly.

Grissom watched her face with growing fear and confusion, unaware that his sudden jerk of the head had dislodged Sara's chain from under the collar of his shirt.

McKay slowly pulled the chain out fully, smirking as she unveiled the ring. She made eye contact with Grissom who by now had realised what she had found but it was too late. Before he knew it, she had yanked the chain off his neck in one swift and painful pull. She studied the ring for a moment and then looked up, remarking in a snigger, "You'll never get to give it to her now, will you?"

Grissom faltered, tears burning in the corner of his eyes. "Give it back; it was-"

"It was what?" she asked, holding Grissom's heartbroken gaze. He looked away. "Shine the light this way, Marty," she said, looking at the ring and grinning while she slipped it off the chain and onto her ring finger. She carelessly dropped the chain to the ground and spread her fingers wide admiringly. The wide beam on her face said it all. She had won. She held her hand up in Grissom's eye line to show him her prize but his eyes were still averted. "Make him look up," she told Marty.

Marty pulled Grissom's head up by the hair until the latter had no choice but to look at McKay's hand.

"You like it?" she asked breezily as if they were out shopping. "It fits me like a glove; like it was meant for my finger." Her smile stayed on but her eyes narrowed to glittering slits. "It would have been too small for her anyway."

"How would you know?" came out of Grissom's lips before he could censor his pain.

"I visited her on her deathbed, remember? Did her one final manicure?"

"If you touched even one single strand of her hair-"

"Oh, I did," McKay replied, silencing Grissom. "I did. It was so silky and soft." She paused. "What are you going to do about it, huh? Track me down? Pursue me till you die? I'm already one step ahead of you, dear Grissom. I've already won." She looked down toward her hand and smiled. "You mind if I keep it? It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Without a backward glance and before Grissom could react, she slammed the trunk lid down. "Come on, Marty," he heard as he once more stared at pitch darkness, "let's hit the road before the cavalry gets here."

"I will have my revenge McKay," Grissom called through the trunk. "One way or another you won't get away with this."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save your breath for someone who cares."

He heard McKay's resonating laughter echo into the night, and then car doors slammed. The engine cranked over and as the car pulled out in a cloud of dust he was sent flying against the back seat, wincing and closing his eyes in pain and at the helplessness of his situation.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked fighting Grissom. He tried his best, bless him but he never had a fair chance and McKay had the last word - again. Please, leave a review on this chapter. It would mean a lot to know what you thought of it, even if it's only one word. Your theories about how Grissom might get out of his predicament are greatly appreciated too; they might give me a little inspiration.


	35. Chapter 35

"Well, well, well, if it isn't good old Kojak himself. Long time, no see, Captain Brass. Did _you_ like what you heard?"

Brass motioned for Catherine to stop talking on her cell and took his hand off the mouthpiece. "McKay! McKay, we're on to you!" he shouted into the phone. "If you dare-" He heard McKay's evil laugh and then the line went dead, cutting him off. "Bitch!" he spat angrily, repressing a shiver. He checked the phone for a connection but nothing. He turned toward PD's entrance door and slammed his fist against the plate-glass. "She sure knows how to make my blood curdle."

Catherine had a last word with Archie before hanging up. "You spoke to her?" she said anxiously. "What happened? How's Grissom?"

Brass took a deep breath. "_She_ spoke to me," he said in a heavy exhale of air. "Grissom…" he gave a small disbelieving laugh, his head shaking in utter bewilderment, "…is okay, I guess, in the circumstance. How long for is anybody's guess. But McKay's showing her true colours this time. You won't believe this, Catherine," he ran a shaky hand over his face, "Grissom managed to get a call out while McKay and her boy were…" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively but there was no humour in his gesture, "…otherwise engaged."

"Oh my God," Catherine gasped in disbelief. "Sara, first and now, him. Why is she doing this, Jim?" She wiped the corner of her eyes. "Is she wanting to kill him too? Does she want a ransom?"

Brass lifted his shoulder in a helpless shrug and re-entered the building. "From what little I heard," he said holding the door for Catherine, "it sounds like she's playing with him. Oh, he's giving as good as he takes but it's like she gets off on torturing him."

"Torturing him? Jesus, Jim."

"Mentally anyway. She's using him to…I don't know…satisfy some sexual fantasies-"

"Perversion, more like."

"I don't know, Cath, I really don't know. I've never come across such cold-hearted evil in a woman before." They reached Brass's office. Looking utterly disgusted, Brass repressed another shiver, angrily thrust the door open and headed for his desk. "Did what's-his-name manage to trace Grissom's call?"

Catherine rubbed her face with both hands. "Yeah," she replied at last. "The cell signal bounced off a tower off Highway 95, ten miles south of Fallon."

"Fallon? Never heard of it." The police captain turned toward Catherine. "Where the hell is that?"

"Archie tells me Fallon's in Churchill County in Western Nevada, fifty miles east of-"

"Let me guess: Reno."

"Yep."

"And I assume Archie lost the signal?"

"Yep. But it looks like they followed Veterans Memorial Highway all the way north. If as Grissom says they've been on the road for almost five hours with one stop for fuel… it fits."

"So she did stay local after all," Brass mused. "Unfortunately, Grissom got busted with the cell so no doubt by now she's had a change of plans."

"Maybe not. It's all agricultural land around that area and desert further up north…maybe she got a place, a ranch or a farm maybe, somewhere remote to hide."

Brass nodded. "Well, if that's the case we need to stop them before they get there or the chances of finding them are narrowing by the minute." He paused in thought. "Okay, I'm going to call my mate at Reno PD again. Make sure he's circulated the APB and got Highway Patrol up there on the look-out."

"I got Warrick searching through land deeds of the area; see if anything's registered to McKay, her family or her dead husband's. But it's going to take time." Catherine stopped talking watching as Vartann stormed into Brass's office.

The detective looked far from happy. "Did you see that?"

"Wallis trying to wriggle himself out of the charge?" Brass said. "Yeah, I saw. What else did he say?"

"Nothing. We couldn't get him to tell us where they might be headed or why he tipped Brown off on the CCTV." Vartann pulled the knot of his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. "I'm guessing there's no love lost between him and his brother."

Brass nodded his head.

Vartann let out a long breath. "Jim, is there any truth to Wallis's allegation?" He looked back over his shoulder toward the corridor, lowering his voice a notch but not his angry tone. "Could Grissom have-"

"Wallis didn't mention any names," Brass cut in tersely.

"He didn't need to," Vartann retorted in a similar tone.

Brass looked at his detective square in the eye. He had too much respect for Vartann to want to lie to him and yet he felt the need to protect his friend and colleague. "Honestly, Tony? I…don't know," he finally settled for.

"But you suspect." Vartann's tone was calmer now. Brass's facial shrug told him all he needed to know and he sighed noisily.

"As you said," Brass said quietly, "there's no evidence of Grissom ever being there. CSI recovered nothing and until we find Grissom himself, we only got Wallis's word for it."

"Come on, Jim," Vartann exclaimed exasperatedly. "Stokes processed the house. He could have-"

"What are you implying, Tony?" Catherine gritted through clenched teeth. "That my team would deliberately…destroy evidence to cover for one of their own?"

Vartann whipped his head round toward Catherine and then looked away, shaking his head. "No, of course not," he said in a sigh before looking up at Brass. "It's just that I don't like to be kept in the dark. If I had known about this, I might have done things differently."

"Okay, Tony. I get your point. But now you know as much as we do. Except that Grissom just made contact." He went on to relay the details of the phone conversation he'd just had. "I'm going to get the sheriff out of bed and call in a few favours," Brass then told him. He looked at Catherine. "We're going to take this show on the road, Catherine, and Grissom out of his pickle."

* * *

"Switch the channel, will you? I'm fed up with this Country crap."

Marty ignored Joanne's request. His eyes darted from the badly-lit dark road ahead to the speedometer, his fingers restlessly tapping the steering wheel.

"Did you hear what I said?" Joanne repeated shortly. "Switch the channel."

"Do it yourself."

McKay did a double take at Marty's harsh tone. She frowned in confusion and then smiled as she understood what was eating him up. She brought the back of her hand up to his cheek and slowly stroked up and down along his jaw line. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

Marty shook Joanne's hand off impatiently and leaned down, jabbing his finger on the radio's off button. "Nothing."

Knowing exactly how to handle and diffuse Marty's temper, she now brushed a lazy finger over one of the throbbing veins on his neck. "Come on, you can tell your momma what's troubling you. You know I can make anything better."

He lifted a sulky shoulder. "Is it true what you said?"

Joanne's smile widened. "What, Angel?" she asked softly.

Marty took his eyes off the road and stared McKay in the eyes. His eyes were wild with pent-up emotion. "What you told him before?"

She laughed delightedly. "Did it make you feel jealous?"

Marty remained silent. Keeping his eyes on McKay, he curled his lips into a chilling smile and gripped the steering wheel tighter while he put his foot down on the accelerator, gradually building up speed.

McKay sobered up quickly. "What do you think you're playing at?" she barked suddenly, instinctively grabbing hold of the steering wheel as the car began to shake.

"I put on the show just for you," Marty mimicked disdainfully. "I got turned on just thinking about you listening in." He redirected his cold gaze on the road but didn't ease off the accelerator. They were nearing eighty by now. "Was that true?"

Joanne removed her hand off the wheel, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She reached in her purse for a cigarette. "Of course not. I was only messing with him." She lit up. "What's brought this on? You know how I feel about you. You're my Angel."

"It didn't sound like it," Marty replied curtly, ignoring McKay's attempts at appeasing him. "It sounded like you meant every single word. What about what _he_ said? Was that true? You never talk about love; you never act like you care or respect me." Marty was shouting now, making himself heard over the roar of the engine. "You just tell me what to do, when to do it-"

"Don't you enjoy it when I tell you what to do?" she asked. Marty remained silent, his darkened eyes intent on the road as the car sped along. McKay cast a worried glance at the speedometer and then at the road ahead. "Slow down, Marty, will you? You're going to get us killed."

"_I'm_ in control now," he said pointedly. He laughed an empty laugh, slid the window down and leaned out, screaming out into the night from the top of his lungs.

Cool air filled the cab, flapping McKay's hair about her face and she panicked. She leaned over and frantically took hold of the steering wheel with both hands, keeping the car on the road.

Marty brought his head back in. "You don't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, do you?"

"Listen, I've had enough of this," she shouted. "Slow the fucking car down before we crash."

Marty smiled wickedly and took his eyes off the road again. "Or you'll do what?"

"Watch out!" McKay cried out as the car hit a pothole.

Marty lost control of the car and it veered off the roadway. He slammed on the brakes and swerved, blindly overcorrecting, flinging McKay against the passenger-side window. The car spun round and slid uncontrollably on the dirt roadside for a hundred yards before coming to a juddering stop in a cloud of dust.

Breathing hard and heart pounding in his chest, Marty began to laugh, quietly at first and then hysterically as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He staggered out and took a few steps toward the front of the car before leaning palms down over the hot hood. "Fuck," he said in a fit of crazy laughter. "That was fucking close!"

McKay remained in the car, waiting for her heartbeat to return to a normal pace. She brought a shaky hand to her face and felt blood where she had bumped her head against the glass. They had had a narrow escape. When she had calmed a little, she undid her seatbelt and went to join Marty who had by now sat down on the ground against the front wheel. He was rocking slightly, his head in his hands. The laughter had gone.

She crouched down in front of him. "I'm sorry," she said softly, stroking his hair back from his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd get yourself all worked-up like that."

Marty broke away from her hold. "What is it you want?" he asked heatedly. "Do you want to fuck him, is that it? Am I not enough for you?"

"No." She tilted her head to the side, trying to make eye contact. "Of course you are." Her voice was soft, pleading, cajoling even.

He grabbed her left hand. "What about this?" he asked.

"It's just for fun. It's just another way of getting back at him, of making him suffer for what he did to me."

"Taking his bitch away from him, I understand but this..." He looked up from the ring on her finger straight into her eyes. "Why are so obsessed with him?"

"You know why."

"She's as good as dead; you got what you wanted. What don't we just kill him and be done with it all? We could just go to Mexico or somewhere else. Just the two of us. What do you think?"

"No."

"But you got your revenge! What more is there to have?" A slow smile of understanding crept up his face. "Unless I was right all along and it's him you want." He laughed. "It's him you wanted all along and you got us to get rid of her so he could be free…for you."

She took his face in her hands, and gazed into his eyes, shaking her head softly."No, Marty," she smiled. "You got this all wrong. I've got all I need here with you. All I want is you."

"What about Jimmy?"

"What about Jimmy?" she asked. "You don't care about him." McKay tried a little teasing pout and when she saw Marty relax a little she grinned and slipped her hand under his open shirt. She teased the tip of her index finger through his nipple ring and pulled him toward her. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear. Marty winced a little but a smile was tugging at his lips. **"**Get back in the car," she said. "I'll drive the rest of the way."

* * *

"This…man says that the machine's keeping you alive, that you're never going to wake up and that you'll die without it." Laura paused and stared at her daughter with tears in her eyes. "He also said that…that you didn't want to live like this." She pinched her lips in anguish. "What am I supposed to do, Sara? How am I supposed to make that kind of decision? It's been such a long time since we talked, since we saw each other, since I had any news. Why didn't you ever return my calls after I got out of prison? They say me and Mattie are your only next-of-kins, but is that by default? Do you even want me here at all?"

She brushed trembling fingers over Sara's eyes, silently willing them to open. "I've never been able to support you, encourage you in your studies, in your endeavours, in your life. I've had no input whatsoever in anything you've achieved. I don't know anything about you, Sara, the real you. I don't know anything about the person, the adult you've become. Did you ever marry? Have children? Did you ever find love? Someone who makes you happy? All I know is what little I managed to find out about you from social services and later on the internet. Glimpses of you until you turned seventeen and went away and later small newspaper clippings of the good you do in your work. But there's so much I still don't know. So much I want to know. I wish…I wish…oh, Sara, how can they ask me to give up on you when we're still to get to know each other?"

"_Mommy?" _

"_Yes, sweetie?"_

"_What did you want to be when you were young?"_

_Laura paused. Holding a plate in one hand and a dish cloth in the other, she pondered her daughter's question for a moment. She turned, her lips curling into a loving smile on seeing Sara so engrossed in her homework. Sat at the kitchen table, Sara's brow was furrowed as she thought about what she had just asked. _

"_You know what? I don't remember," she answered at last. "It was such a long time ago. Why are you asking?"_

_Sara removed the pencil she was chewing from her mouth. "Mrs Wildman asked us to think about what king of job we'd like to do when we grow up."_

_Laura finished wiping the plate she was holding, put it down on the table next to Sara's algebra book, and took another one. "That's nice," she said distractedly. "And what would you like to do when you're older?"_

_Ten-year-old Sara scrunched her face deep in thought and then beamed her brightest smile at her mother. "That's easy," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "I'd like to be just like you."_

"_Like me?" Laura croaked with surprise. "Like work at the library?"_

_Sara's ponytail flicked back and forth as she shook her head in reply. "No – I'd like to be a mommy, like you." She nodded with assurance. "That's what I'm going to tell Mrs Wildman I'm going to be when I'm older." She picked up her pencil and began to write._

_Laura laughed and ruffled her daughter's hair. "But sweetie, you can be a mommy and have a job – a career. Wouldn't you like to be a teacher like Mrs Wildman? Or maybe do something with science? You're good at that."_

_Sara brought the end of her pencil to her mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully, her face creased into a deep frown. "What, like Marie Curie? We've been learning all about her at school. She was a physicist and a chemist and she developed the first treatments for cancer using radioactivity. She was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize and then the first person to win a second." Sara stopped talking, obviously lost in her own thoughts._

_Laura watched her daughter with a proud smile on her face and then laughed. "You know what, sweetie? You will be able to do whatever you set your mind on." _

Laura was so engrossed in her memories that she didn't notice the man with the sad eyes who slipped quietly inside the room. His face was shut-off, his lips pinched, his chest heaving a little as he fought to keep his composure as he moved nearer the bed a little hesitantly.

"You came?" he said in a whisper.

Startled, Laura turned and brought a shaky hand to dry her tears.

He smiled. "You must be Sara's mother?"

"Mr Grissom?"

* * *

Tbc.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity again to thank the people who consistently leave a review and encourage me. Writing a story like this takes it out on you and I'm feeling a little burnt-out. I appreciate the support and believe me when I say you're the ones who keep me going. However, it looks like the overall interest for the story is dropping, which tells me that it's time for me to take the short way home.

Jem, many, many happy returns. Have a great day! It's a still little rough around the edges and I've been working on this like mad this morning to get it ready but here it is. I hope you enjoy. Sylvie.

* * *

"Mr Grissom?"

Nick smiled and took another step forward. "No, I'm sorry. I'm not Grissom," he said softly, flicking his gaze from Laura to Sara. "My name's Nick Stokes."

Laura dropped Sara's hand and moved toward Nick anxiously. "How did you get in here?" she asked with growing agitation. "You shouldn't be here." She straightened up her body defensively and moved between the bed and Nick as though shielding Sara from this intruder, as if trying to protect her. "There was a security breach earlier," she continued a little uncertainly, "I want you to go."

"Ma'am, listen, you don't understand. I'm a -"

"Please, leave or I'm going to call security." She moved backward toward the nurse call-button.

Nick paused and lifted a conciliatory hand. "I understand," he said, looking at Laura in the eye. His voice was calm and reassuring. "I know about the security breach. But please listen to me; let me explain." Laura stared back at Nick silently but didn't push the call button. Nick smiled. "I'm a friend, a colleague of Sara's. I too work for the crime lab."

Laura eyed him disbelievingly and he unzipped his jacket to show her his CSI ID badge on a chain around his neck. Laura's gaze darted toward the badge and then back to his face, her shoulders sagging suddenly as she visibly relaxed. She turned toward Sara.

"One of the nurses on tonight is a friend of mine and she let me in," Nick explained.

"You're a friend of Sara's?" Laura murmured with disbelief, her gaze firmly on her daughter's face.

Nick's tone was soft and understanding. "I am," he replied. It wasn't that long ago that his own mother had been in a similar position after his incredible rescue. Except that then, once Grissom had hauled him out of his coffin, they knew he would make a full recovery, even if the emotional scars were taking longer to heal. Nick glanced toward Sara, his heart heavy with sorrow and powerlessness, and sighed. "You must be Sara's mother," he stated more out of politeness than anything. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking.

Laura seemed to startle at his words and she whipped her head round, her watery eyes shining with heartbreaking hope. "S-Sara talked about me?"

Nick let out a sigh, his face twisting into a slight, pained grimace. "I'm afraid not. It's just that…you look like her."

Her disappointment was written all over her face. "Or she looks like me," she stated a little flatly.

Nick didn't reply.

"It's okay, Mr…"

"Stokes. Nick, please."

"It's okay; Sara and I aren't-weren't close…" she let her words trail with a sad shake of the head.

Nick nodded politely and waited for Laura to say more. When she didn't, they lapsed into an awkward silence. Nick checked his watch; he should be back at the lab really but Grissom's picture had been burning a hole in his wallet for the last few hours so he had made a detour on his way back.

"It's okay," Nick said finally, noticing Laura's growing unease. "Don't worry; I can come by later. I understand you want to spend some time alone with Sara, catch up with her."

Laura turned, suddenly looking almost fearful to be left alone with Sara. "No, please, I'd like you to stay." She tried a smile. It was so much like Sara's and so sad that Nick could only nod his head at the request. "Would you please tell me about her…about Sara?"

Nick hid his surprise. He knew Sara and her mother had been estranged and hadn't spoken to each other for some time but the topic had been taboo so Nick never got to learn the details of their fallout. "How do you mean?"

Laura shrugged and tears began to fall down her face. She turned away and took Sara's hand in hers. "Today is the first time I see my daughter in the flesh in seventeen years, Mr Stokes. I'm looking at her. I can see my little girl but I'm looking at a stranger…and it's breaking my heart." She paused and Nick remained silent at a loss as to what to say. "Please, would you tell me about my daughter?" she pleaded again in a choked whisper.

"I wouldn't know where to start," Nick whispered back, his pain audible.

Laura looked at Nick and smiled, her lips curving in a sad downward smile. "At the beginning," she said. Sensing Nick's reluctance, she added a tearful, "Please."

Nick's smile wobbled. He nodded his head and walked round to the other side of the bed, a million and one images of Sara filling his mind: Laughing as she raced him to the finishing line on one of their many runs; joking as they ganged up on Greg with Warrick and mucked about in the break-room; with a twinkle in her eye when she popped her head out from under the hood of a car with the key evidence to solving a case; or simply crying, alone in the locker-room as he had found her on so many occasions, after particular gruelling shifts.

Hers had been the first smile he had seen after Grissom had pulled him out of his makeshift coffin and every day afterwards as she helped him to recovery. He reached over toward her face but didn't make contact. His eyes pooled with tears which slowly began to trickle down his face.

"Have you known Sara long?" Laura then asked, jarring him out of his recollections.

Keeping his eyes on his friend, Nick said in a thick voice, "Ever since she came to Vegas. It's going to be six years this coming fall."

Laura nodded. "I know you've only just met me and I'm going to sound awfully rude but…it seems to me you have feelings for her; did you two ever date?"

Nick burst into a quiet laugh that soon petered out and then shook his head sadly. "She's a good friend – one of my closest one. The best. I have feelings for her – we all do. We all love her very deeply but no, Sara and I never dated." He wiped his tears on the sleeve of his jacket.

"I'm glad she had people who cared for her in her life; that she wasn't without love."

Nick turned his gaze toward Laura in surprise. "Oh, Sara is very much loved," he hastened to say. "She's very much loved." He paused, and redirected his gaze on Sara. "I asked her once," he said with a smile, "Out on a date." He shook his head in disbelief as fresh tears burned in the corner of his eyes. "Only she didn't know it was a date and invited the whole team along." He sighed heavily, lapsing into silence.

"It must be hard on you to see her like this."

Nick closed his eyes, fighting to keep control over his emotion. "It's been hard on all of us. But it's been hardest on Grissom."

"Would you like me to give you some time alone with Sara?" Laura asked.

"No, it's okay. I'll come by later in the morning." He patted Sara's hand affectionately. "It's no trouble."

"Did you see that? Laura whipped her head round toward Nick. "Did you see that just then? When you took her hand? Sara smiled. She smiled; I just saw her."

Nick couldn't hide the pain from his gaze. "Oh, I don't think she did. I don't think she can." He moved closer to Sara's mom and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Mrs Sidle, have you been told about the extent of Sara's injuries and the damage they caused?"

Laura nodded her head, her disappointment obvious. She pinched her lips, sniffing. "She's so beautiful as she sleeps. Don't you think?"

Nick swallowed the tightness in his throat, Laura's words so reminiscent of something Grissom had said. "She is," he croaked. "She is the most beautiful person I know."

"Tell me about her, please."

"I'm not the best person to ask if you want to know about Sara; the real Sara," Nick replied. His eyes turned wistful. "She's always kept herself to herself. As a friend, she is generous with her time and her support and her love. She is funny, one of the guys." He laughed. "She 's very protective of the victims we deal with, the living and the dead ones too. She relates to them, we both do but Sara more so than...any of us. She's very protective of us too - her friends and colleagues; her family." Nick didn't notice Laura startle slightly at his words. "We've all found a family in our team. It's a tough job we do and we support each other through it. We know each other in ways that our real parents can never do. With Sara and the team, I don't need to explain; they just get it and they don't judge."

Laura's face shut-off, her jaw set as Nick's words instead of appeasing her seemed to make Laura more uncomfortable.

Unsuspecting, Nick continued. "Sara's fiercely protective of her private life but once she lets you in, you're in. You know what I mean?" Laura nodded vaguely in reply. "She can be guarded and sometimes she gets sad…terribly sad but Sara loves life, Mrs Sidle, and it loves her back." His gaze a million miles away, Nick lapsed into a reminiscing silence, smiling to himself.

"What is it, Mr Stokes?"

Nick turned his head with a frown. "Huh?"

"You were smiling just then. Why?"

Nick shrugged. "I was just thinking that actually I hadn't seen her sad in a long time. She-" Nick paused suddenly, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"Please, I need to know."

"Lately, she's been happy. She's been…alive." The word died on his lips and he turned a watery gaze toward Laura.

"She wouldn't want to live like this, would she?" Laura asked him candidly, turning her eyes toward Sara and the life support machine.

Nick looked at Sara too. He looked at the ventilator pumping air into her lungs through the tube that twisted her mouth out of shape into a sad kind of smile. He looked at her inert body. How still and pale, and lifeless it was. How unlike Sara it was. He looked at his friend and he could only shake his head in reply.

"No, she wouldn't," he said in a small voice. Tears were falling down his face. "She wouldn't want to be kept like this, live like this, unable to feel. This isn't living; this isn't Sara." His voice was barely audible now. "It hurts so much to see her like this. So much."

_It wasn't your time to die,_ echoed painfully in his head. Nick turned away to hide his pain and sorrow, his acceptance of the inevitable, and broke down into quiet sobs.

As he was drying his tears, he heard Laura move behind him and say, "Do you know why she hasn't been sad recently?"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just…before, you said that Sara could get very sad but not recently. Do you know why?"

Smiling sadly, he slowly nodded his head. "I do. Sara found love. Real love." He shrugged at the banality of his words. "Sounds stupid, doesn't it? But in the last year, despite all the bad things we see every day in our work, all the bad things that have happened to us, all of us, she's been happy. Happier. And until yesterday, I hadn't realised why."

"This Mr Grissom I keep hearing about?" Nick nodded his answer. "I understand he's her boss?"

"That's right. He's the head of our unit."

"Didn't they get on?" she asked a little accusatorily.

Nick's brow creased in surprise at Laura's tone. "They had their ups and downs," he replied defensively. "Why are you asking that?"

"Why isn't he here then?" she countered a little aggressively. "With her, at her bedside. Why has he left her all alone in this hospital room?" She began to cry. "He's left my little girl all alone in this room. I was told he's hardly spent any time with her at all since the accident. Wasn't her love for that man reciprocated?"

Nick looked stunned by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. "That's not true!" he defended heatedly. "This…has shattered Grissom. He's out there risking his life to catch the people who did this to Sara!"

"If as you say they love each other, why hasn't she made him her next-of-kin?"

Nick was looking more and more bewildered by the sudden change of mood. "I can't answer that, Mrs Sidle," he almost shouted. Remembering where he was, he looked at Sara, took a breath and closed his eyes. "I don't understand why you're asking this. I don't know what you've been told but I know for a fact that Grissom cares deeply for your daughter."

Laura turned away. "Please, I'd like you to leave now."

Nick did a double take. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd like you to leave. I'd like to be alone with my _daughter_ now."

The way Laura said daughter was like a slap in Nick's face, reminding him that he wasn't family and his eyes filled with fresh tears. He looked at Sara and then at Laura before nodding his head wretchedly. He was turning around, headed toward the door when he remembered the original purpose of his visit. Ignoring Laura's resentful glare, he walked back to Sara's side, pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed the photograph Grissom had lost at the crime scene.

He gently opened up the hand Sara had folded over her chest and placed the photograph in its grasp, carefully closing her fingers over it. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Brass's gone to get him, Sara," he whispered his lips on her skin. "He won't let anything happen to him. You hang in there, sweetie. Do it for him." He closed his eyes, releasing his tears and kissed her on the forehead one more time.

Straightening up, he turned toward Laura but she was looking away. "I'm going to go now," he told her, "but I'll be back in the morning. Please, don't make a decision until Grissom gets back. It would kill him if-" his words caught in his throat and he choked them back. "Take care of her, please."

Nick had his hand on the door handle when Laura asked, "Do you believe in miracles, Mr Stokes?" He paused. "Because I don't."

"_I_ do," the CSI whispered, turning around. "I'm a living proof of them. _I'm_ a miracle. Grissom, Sara and the rest of the team – they saved me."

His words gave Laura pause. "What about Sara?" she asked. "Do you believe this…Grissom is capable of another miracle? Can _he_ make her wake up from her sleep?"

Nick remained silent and looked down to his feet. Grissom was a lot of things but God, he wasn't. "Please, take good care of her until he gets back," he said at last. "That's what Sara would want you to do above everything else."

* * *

It took less than an hour between the time Brass woke the sheriff up and frantically explained the urgency of the situation, and the LVPD helicopter transporting Brass and Warrick to Reno taking off. Nick and Greg were out in the field and Catherine had stayed behind to man the lab and field the sheriff's calls. Warrick's land deed search hadn't yielded anything yet but Catherine was going to keep digging. McKay was smart but Catherine was smarter.

The chopper had been in the sky for forty minutes and was about to make its approach in to Reno when it got a call from Reno PD control room.

"Captain Brass, Sir?" crackled through Brass's headset. "This is Reno control room. Do you copy?"

Brass shared a look of surprise with Warrick. "Reno, this is Captain Brass. We copy. Over."

"Highway patrol has just called in a white Ford Thunderbird with a broken taillight. Registration, TUD – 546. Do you still have an APB out on it? Over."

Warrick cheered, shaking his closed fist in delight. "We got them, Jim. We got the bastards!"

Brass closed his eyes, his relief overwhelming. "Affirmative," he said. "We're on our way over to Reno now. Our ETA's…" the pilot turned and mouthed ten minutes to Brass, "…ten minutes. Do not apprehend. I repeat, do not apprehend. The suspects are armed and dangerous and we believe they're holding one of our guys hostage in the trunk of the car."

"It's too late for that, Sir," the dispatcher replied. "The driver refused to pull over for a routine check. A call for urgent back-up's logged in and highway patrol are in hot pursuit of the vehicle. Over."

"Jesus!"

Brass heard Warrick's frantic curse through the radio and he silenced him with a hard stare. "What's their location? Over."

"Northbound on the I- 80, ten miles south of Lovelock, to the east of the Trinity Range. We're setting up a road block two miles south of Lovelock."

Lovelock, Brass mused, shaking his head at the irony of the name. "10-4," he replied. He tapped the helicopter pilot on the shoulder, instructing him to head for Lovelock. The pilot nodded, checked his dials and negotiated a sharp right-hand turn. "Reno, this is Captain Brass. Do you still copy?"

"Go ahead, Captain Brass. Over."

"Tell highway patrol to proceed with caution. I do not want my man harmed in any way. We're headed their way. Captain Brass out."

Brass closed his eyes wearily and ran a shaky hand over his face. It had been a hell of a long day but the end was finally in sight. Soon they could rescue Grissom. The man had been trussed up in the trunk of that car for hours now and God only knew how he fared. _Hang in there, buddy, we're coming for you._

After a while Brass felt a quick tap on his shoulder and he looked up. Warrick was pointing through the helicopter window at the flashing lights of three highway patrols up ahead in the distance. Brass scanned his gaze over the dark expanse of straight road until he zoomed in on the speeding white Thunderbird and then a mile further up ahead toward the flashing red and blue lights of the waiting police roadblock.

There was nowhere for McKay to go, sandwiched as they were from all sides. To the east of the I-80, Brass could just about make out the darkened outline of mountains and on the other side there was a small canyon with a river running through it.

The chopper dipped, flying low above the desert ground and soon caught up with the runaway Thunderbird, flying alongside it. Despite the powerful beam of the chopper's outside light, Brass couldn't make out the interior of the vehicle or the number of occupants. The helicopter overshot the Thunderbird and soon afterward the pilot turned toward Brass, pointing toward a spot near the road block safe enough for him to land on.

Brass nodded, craning his neck, looking through the window to follow the Thunderbird's progress with his eyes. This was it, the end of the road for McKay and her accomplice. The Ford appeared to be slowing down as it neared the roadblock. Officers taking cover behind their police cruisers' open door had their guns drawn and pointing toward the runaway car.

"What was that light?" Warrick asked all of a sudden turning wide eyes towards Brass. "Did McKay just open fire?"

Brass could only watch the scene on the ground unfold, powerless to stop it. He gave Warrick a bleak nod of the head. The Thunderbird suddenly accelerated sharply, headed straight for the middle of the road block.

"Son of a bitch," Brass exclaimed. "Where the hell do they think they're going?"

Like a Japanese kamikaze on a suicide mission and despite the officers on the ground returning fire and hitting their target, the Thunderbird didn't slow down. It hit the first cruiser full on, barging its way through the barrage of cars. It looked like they had managed to burst through to the other side when the car unexpectedly took off in the air, spinning and rolling out of control toward the roadside. It landed with a thump on its roof before rolling again and careening off down the ravine.

"Noooo," Warrick yelled.

Brass swallowed the tightness in his throat, bracing himself for the subsequent exploding ball of fire.

* * *

Tbc.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: I didn't think I'd get this to you so quickly. It must be all the fluff in my head. ;-) I apologise in advance for the overuse of exclamation marks throughout the chapter's last scene. How else do you convey people's desperation and shouts?

____

_

* * *

_

_No admittance. __Medical staff only,_ the sign on the door said.

Lifting her gaze from the sign to the hospital administrator, Laura took a deep breath and nodded her head bleakly. "I'm ready," she said in a low voice.

She was ready. This is what Sara wants, she kept telling herself. I must respect her wishes. She needed to see where they did it. How they did it. She needed to see in order to be able to accept what she had to do. What she was doing. For Sara. Tears she had managed to keep at bay up to now resurfaced, streaking her cheeks. She wiped them with the back of her hands and nodded her head at Purcell again. She was ready.

The hospital administrator pulled the door leading to the viewing gallery open and waited until Laura had made her way in to follow. He placed his fingers on her elbow, guiding her toward a seat. Laura stiffened and declined with a brisk shake of her greying curls, preferring instead to stand behind the glass, her gaze immediately drawn to the scene below.

Purcell joined her side. "Generally, Mrs Sidle, as I explained to you earlier we don't allow members of the public in the viewing gallery for obvious reasons but -"

"I appreciate you're breaking the rules, Mr Purcell," Laura cut in, keeping her eyes fixed on the operating room below, "but at this moment in time I need to be here." She paused, considering her words with care. "This is something I need to do...in order to be able to come to terms with my decision." She stopped talking, fresh tears forming in her eyes as she watched the surgeon remove one of the patient's kidneys and delicately place it in a small silver kidney dish, before starting the incision to extract the other one. Medical staff was working quickly and respectfully to keep organs usable, the mood in the room solemn. "Is this how it's going to be for Sara?" she then asked softly.

"Yes, it is," Purcell replied quietly. He cleared his throat. "It's highly unusual for an operation like this to be taking place at this time of night," Purcell said quietly, uncomfortable with the silence and with what he was being made to watch, "but harvesting organs in a lengthy process and OR availability at a premium."

Laura didn't acknowledge his words, fascinated by what was taking place on the operating table. "Is she feeling any pain?"

Frowning, Purcell did a double take at the question. "Hum…no," he said uneasily. "As I explained to you she is…brain dead. This means that there is no brain activity and therefore no feeling of pain. Just like Sara."

"She still looks so very much alive, though, doesn't she?" Laura asked softly and with a wistful smile.

"The ventilator's keeping her alive, Mrs Sidle," Purcell replied a little abruptly, "breathing air into her lungs, keeping the blood circulating. I explained all this; the patient's heart's not capable of beating on its own anymore and of performing this basic function."

Stung by his tone, Laura turned a dark look toward Purcell. "I know all that," she said curtly. "It doesn't make it any easier, though."

Purcell sighed. "I know; I'm sorry. It's just been a very long day."

Purcell's words instead of appeasing Laura seemed to rile her even more. "Do you know what it's like to be told that your daughter, who you've not seen in more than half her life, is as good as dead?" she angrily spat at him.

Purcell shook his head in the negative. "No, I don't. I'm sorry. H-have you…huh…heard from Mr Grissom?" he asked after a moment, hoping to sway the conversation to safer grounds.

Her eyes once more turned toward the operating room below, Laura took a deep, calming breath. "No. Nothing," she replied quietly. "I've been trying his cell but it's disconnected. And you said Mr Grissom knows all about Sara's wishes?"

"Yes. He knows as much as you do."

"And he wasn't willing to accept them?"

"No. Quite the opposite in fact."

"Not even out of love for her?"

Purcell shrugged. "It didn't appear so."

"I wish he was here. I wish I could speak with him but it seems he's left me to do this on my own, too busy chasing the bad guys to be with Sara in her final moments." There was no mistaking the resignation and disappointment in her tone.

"There is still time," Purcell said.

Laura seemed surprised by Purcell's words. "I spoke to a friend of Sara's who came by to visit her," she added. "A law-enforcement colleague of hers – a nice man, he seemed to know her well." She paused, smiling sadly to herself. "He agrees. He thinks that this is what Sara would want me to do – wants me to do. He said that she wouldn't want to live like that for the rest of her life. So why prolong her suffering, huh?"

Purcell gave a gentle, comforting squeeze of Laura's arm. "You're doing the right thing," he said. "It's the right decision."

Laura gave a slow nod of the head as though she was still trying to convince herself, and redirected her gaze to the operating room. "I hope so," she uttered, watching intently. She remained silent for a few minutes before asking, "What are they doing now?"

Purcell who had been scrolling through his missed calls looked up a little sheepishly. "They're…putting the organs in special coolers for storage. They're packed with ice and ready to be transported to wherever they're needed."

"We won't know where the organs are going? Who's going to benefit from them?"

He discreetly slipped his phone back in the inner pocket of his crumpled suit jacket. "I'm afraid not. They are allocated to the OPO, the Organ Procurement Organisation and are distributed to the United Networks for Organ Sharing. All the information is kept strictly confidential." As an afterthought, he added, "There are people – people of all ages, race and genders, who have waited months, some time years for a day like today."

"I've waited almost all my life to see my daughter again."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound callous."

"To you, she's just another patient. A statistic. An organ donor. To me, she's my little girl. She's my Sara and I'm not getting to say goodbye to her."

Purcell smiled a little uneasily. "I've arranged for you to speak to Janet ward-"

"Janet Ward?"

"She's our local organ coordinator. She can explain to you in more details how the whole process works. She will be coming to see you in the morning."

Laura's gaze remained fixed on the still body on the operating table and she watched as the surgeon began sewing it up. "And after, what happens?"

Purcell registered a look of surprise. "After?"

"After this," she said, waving her hand toward the OR.

"After all the viable organs have been harvested, the surgeon will sew her back up, of course."

"But she's still on the ventilator. At what point do I, do you…do they…" she swallowed the knot in her throat, tears streaming down her face, "turn the ventilator off." She broke down into sobs and turned away from the window.

Purcell placed an uncomfortable arm around Laura's shoulders and guided her toward the door. "Why don't we go somewhere more…to my office?"

"No. I'd like to go back to my daughter, please."

* * *

"Come on!" Warrick yelled in desperation as he watched from the helicopter the car careen down the ravine. "What are you waiting for? Land this chopper!"

The pilot remained silent and cool, calmly appraising the situation despite the general mayhem all around him. He scanned his gaze over the dark highway, over the mountainous desert terrain surrounding it on both sides as he tried to find the best spot to land in close proximity of the crash site. The scene below was a carnage of wrecked Highway Patrol and police cruisers, their debris strewn randomly all over the place.

He shook his head. "The best I can do," he said through his radio, "is hover over the interstate directly behind the road block and let you jump off." He glanced over his shoulders toward Brass, waiting for his go-ahead.

"Then, do it!" Brass instructed glumly, running his hand over his face and wincing at the sharp pain as he touched his nose.

While the pilot manoeuvred the helicopter round, Warrick followed Brass's cue and removed his headset, setting it down on the seat next to him. He took his small flashlight out of his field kit and frantically looked around for a first-aid kit, an emergency box, anything he could use to help Grissom in the field. To the CSI's relief, the Thunderbird still hadn't exploded and Warrick prayed to God they could get to his friend and mentor, his surrogate father and role model in time and free him before it blew up. He found what he was looking for, slung it over his shoulder and swallowed his fear, burying it deep where it wouldn't resurface, while the helicopter made its approach.

At the pilot's signal, Brass and Warrick each opened a door and jumped out of the chopper a metre or so onto the hard concrete of the interstate. The night was cool and Warrick repressed a shiver, wishing he'd dressed more accordingly. He cowered low and sprinted out of under the chopper's blades toward the crash site.

Gripping the strap of his first-aid kit like a safety buoy, Warrick stopped dead in his tracks near the broken safety barriers where the Thunderbird had left the road. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he switched his flashlight on and swung its beam over the road and roadside, looking for tyre tracks. Bingo. He took a few quick steps in that direction and stood at the top of the steep and rugged slope, eyes narrowed towards the bottom. Brass and a couple of highway patrol guys joined his side.

"What have you got, Rick?" Brass asked breathlessly.

"There, fifty yards or so at the bottom of that escarpment," Warrick shouted back to be heard over the din of the police sirens still blaring. "You can just about make the red hue of a taillight."

Brass scrunched his face toward the darkness. "I see it," he replied loudly after a moment. "Okay," he added turning toward the Highway patrol officers. "We're going to need paramedics and fire department on the scene." Met with the officer's suspicious eyes, Brass reached for his badge. "Captain Brass, LVPD. This is CSI Brown. We were on our way to Reno when you spotted our suspects' getaway car," he shouted. "They're armed and dangerous and holding one of our guy's prisoner and until we find their dead bodies we're going to proceed with caution."

Warrick didn't wait for Brass to finish his briefing to begin scrambling down the rugged embankment. Time was in short supply. Holding his flashlight in his mouth and with no thoughts to protocol or his safety he was part running, part jumping, part sliding down on his backside over the loose rocky terrain, using his bare hands to cushion his descent.

"Warrick!" he heard Brass shout. "What are you doing, goddamn it? You can't go down there blind! We don't know if McKay or Wallis are injured. They could be lying in wait at the bottom."

Warrick stopped long enough to catch his breath. He took the flashlight out of his mouth and turned a frantic face up toward Brass. "What do you suggest I do, huh? Wait until the fire department gets here?" He looked down at his bleeding hands and turned back toward the wrecked Ford. "We can't leave Grissom in there!" His eyes widened and he paused. "What the hell! Brass!" he yelled frantically as small flames started to emerge from the front of the car. "The car's on fire. Get one of the Highway Patrol's fire extinguishers from their car! Quick!" Propelled by desperation, his excruciating need to get Grissom out of the wreck alive and pure adrenaline, Warrick resumed his frantic scrambling of the hillside to the sound of Brass yelling out his orders.

"Hang on, Rick," he then heard, "We're coming down with you."

The closer Warrick got to the wreckage of the mangled car, the stronger his feeling of doom and helplessness became. There was an eerie silence to the scene, except for the quiet crackling of the small flames burning under the Thunderbird's open hood and Warrick's ragged breathing. His left ankle throbbing painfully where he had twisted it on his way down, he swiftly surveyed the scene. The car was totalled, lying crumpled at a funny angle. The roof had caved in, obliterating the inside of the car, presumably smashing out both windshields and restricting access to the trunk. The pungent smell of gasoline concerned him but so far, the fire seemed contained to the front of the car.

"Grissom! Grissom! I'm here," he called breathlessly. "Hang in there, buddy; I'm going to get you out!" Warrick dropped the first aid-kit on the ground and tried opening the trunk. It was locked and despite the CSI's best effort, wouldn't budge. "It's okay, Griss. I'm going to get the keys from the ignition."

The driver's side door was bent shut out of shape. There was no way he could open it and the hole where the window had once been was no more. Warrick shone his light in looking for McKay or Wallis's bodies but he couldn't see either. His first thought was that they must have been thrown out when the car had rolled down the ravine. He managed to twist his arm through a small gap toward where he believed the ignition barrel was but the car steering column had twisted in such a way that he couldn't reach the keys.

"Damn!" he cursed, banging an angry fist against the car door. He stole a wary glance toward the engine but the flames were still contained to that area. Taking a deep breath, he hobbled quickly to the passenger side and found the door open. He crouched down on the ground, reaching in, twisting himself inside the mangled wreck when he suddenly felt intense heat burn his arm. He screamed out in pain, pulling his arm out in a sharp pull and watched as flames crept inside the cabin, burning and melting everything in their wake.

Grissom's time was running out.

Limping, he ran back to the rear of the car, picking up a small rock on the way which he intended to use to bust the lock and open the trunk. "Griss! I'm going to try to smash this thing open, all right? Hang in there; I'm coming for you." He began to smash the rock directly onto the lock but the rock was made of sand and it disintegrated in his bloodied hands.

Warrick let out a long frustrated growl and scanned his gaze over the ground for another rock, a bigger rock or anything that he could use to get Grissom out. He found nothing and for want of something better, tried forcing the trunk open with his bare hands.

"Warrick!" Brass screamed as he finally got to the crash site after his slow and pained scramble down to the Thunderbird. He was out of breath and looking weary and weak. A couple of highway patrolmen who arrived with him headed straight for the front of the car, spraying the engine bay with foam. "Have you found Grissom?"

"I don't understand," Warrick said despondently, giving up his futile attempts at clawing at the trunk. "The car's empty, Jim. Empty. There's no sign of either McKay or Wallis."

"Assuming they were both in the car to begin with," the police captain replied, clasping the CSI on the shoulder comfortingly. He did a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn but the beam of his flashlight didn't light up further than a few yards all around them.

"What about the trunk, Rick?" he asked quietly. "Have you checked?"

Tears were burning in the CSI's eyes. "I can't get the freaking thing open." He gave an angry kick of the car's back tyre. "And Griss isn't responding."

"He might not be in there at all, Warrick."

Warrick didn't bother Brass with a reply. It was wishful thinking and they both knew it.

Brass sighed. "You!" he shouted frantically to a third highway patrolman, standing watching idly from the side. "Use your radio. We need a crowbar, a tyre iron, a battering ram, anything that can be used to force this goddamn trunk open." The detective looked down towards Warrick's arm, catching a glimpse of his singed clothing and flesh. His noticed the bleeding hands and the ripped clothes from where he had slid down the ravine. "We look like a right old pair," he quipped in a small amused snort, hoping a little humour could dispel the CSI's desolation. It didn't.

"Sir?" one of the highway patrolmen called loudly. "We got the fire under control."

Brass gave a curt nod of the head in response.

All of a sudden, Warrick heard a low, short groan of pain, his ears pricking up at the sound. "Did you hear that?" he asked Brass turning his head and his light toward the vast expanse of darkness.

Brass whipped his head round toward Warrick. "No. What was it?"

Warrick didn't respond and just scanned his light over the area to their left. The moaning came louder this time and he swung his light further back. "There! Did you hear it?"

Brass shook his head. "Did it come from the trunk?"

"I don't think so. It came from over there," Warrick said, pointing and taking a few steps in that direction.

"Grissom?" Brass called, following Warrick. "It's Brass. Is that you buddy?" They heard no response. "Did it sound like Grissom?" he then asked Warrick who just lifted a shoulder in reply. "We're not even sure Grissom was in the trunk, at all," Brass rattled on. "He could have been at the rear of the car and thrown out."

Both men had already reached for their service weapons nevertheless, their senses on high alert. Brass motioned to a couple of officers standing watching nearby to spread out and carry out a slow search of the surrounding area.

"Griss?" Warrick called loudly. "Grissom, talk to us, man."

They heard another low moan coming from the left-hand side.

"Over here!" one of the officers shouted. "He's over here!"

Warrick and Brass covered the short distance in a flash and crouched down near the injured man. "It's not him!" Warrick yelled in frustration. "It's not him!"

"Help me turn him over," Brass instructed Warrick. Then turning toward an officer he said, "You, go and get the first-aid kit."

"It's on the ground at the back of the Thunderbird," Warrick added in a yell as the patrolman ran back toward the Ford.

Brass and Warrick quickly turned the injured man over, causing the man to growl in agony but they already knew it was Martin Wallis. His face was covered in blood and bruised and battered, and both legs looked to be broken. He was still conscious but barely and badly gasping for every breath he took.

"Someone, get the goddamn trunk open!" the captain yelled at the officers standing nearby. "This is not our guy. He's one of the suspects."

"Wallis," Warrick was saying, crouching low over the injured man, "listen to me, man. It's the end of the road for you. Tell me where Grissom is. Is he in the trunk of the car?"

Marty's head rolled to the side and he made a grunting sound, blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth.

"Wallis," Warrick called again anxiously. He shook Wallis alert, causing the injured man to open his eyes a crack and cry out in agony. "Is Grissom in the trunk?"

Wallis's eyes seemed to widen, his mouth curling upward into a small chilling smile. He tried to speak but no sound came out.

"What was that?" Warrick asked, leaning his ear closer to Wallis's mouth. All he made out was a gurgling sound and he tilted Wallis's head to the side allowing the blood pooling inside his mouth to trickle out and not choke him.

"Shit!" Brass cursed. "He's dying. Wallis, we need to know. Was Grissom in the car?" He paused. "What about McKay? Was she in the car with you?"

The officer returned with the first-aid kit but it was too late. As though lifted by his last breath, Wallis opened his eyes, staring unblinkingly into Warrick's narrowed ones. "Let the bastard rot in hell," he mumbled in one final gasp, closing his eyes as his head rolled to the side.

"Son of a bitch!" Warrick shouted in frustration. Getting to his feet, he dropped Wallis's body to the ground and only just stopped himself from giving it an angry kick.

"Sir!" came a frantic voice.

Both Brass and Warrick whipped their heads round toward the Thunderbird.

"We got the trunk open!"

* * *

Tbc.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: A possible hanky warning for this chapter. Maybe. I know; it's been a while.

* * *

The door to Sara's hospital room opened unexpectedly causing Greg to jump to his feet, parting from Sara's side. He let go of her hand, the photograph they both had been holding falling onto the bed covers.

"Who are you?" said a curt male voice. "And how did you get in?"

Tears shining in his eyes, Greg whipped his head round toward the man standing at the door. He gasped, his eyes zooming in and locking on the woman standing slightly back at the threshold, his lips instantly forming into a sad smile that lit up the whole of his tear-streaked face. His arms opening wide, he walked straight past the hospital administrator and up to the woman who he knew could only be Sara's mother, and enveloped her in a tight hug.

"I am so, so very sorry," he cried into her shoulder. "So very, very sorry."

Purcell turned, asking Laura, "Do you know this man?"

Laura wrapped her arms around Greg, returning his warm embrace, tears lining her eyes too. She shook her head softly in reply to Purcell's question and sniffed, gently pushing Greg away from her. Bending down her head, she made eye contact. "But he obviously knows me," she whispered, her voice wobbling.

Greg wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, nodding. "I'm Greg. Greg Sanders. A friend of Sara's." He smiled and turned, staring at Sara quizzically and then back to Laura. "I'm sorry," he told her as he fought to regain some composure, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my display."

"You didn't," Laura said, giving Greg's arm a gentle squeeze.

"It's just that…when I saw you, I saw her." Tears began to spill again. "I miss her so much."

Laura reached for Greg's hand and squeezed it affectionately. "I know. I know," she told him. "I do too. I've done for ever."

Greg nodded, sniffing loudly and bringing his hand to wipe his eyes.

Purcell cleared his throat. "Sir, you shouldn't be here," he said reproachfully. "This is a restricted area and-"

Greg turned toward the hospital administrator, silencing him with a dark look. "I've come to speak with Sara's mother," he told him with determination, turning toward Laura and smiling, "if it's okay with you."

Laura nodded and returned Greg's smile. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much." She turned to Purcell, adding brusquely, "If it's okay with you, Mr Purcell."

Looking irritated Purcell raised his hands by his side. "Fine!" he said. "But not here. This is ICU, not the Strip. There's a family room at the end of the corridor you can use."

Greg looked back toward Sara and smiled at her fondly. Catching sight of the photograph lying on the covers, he picked it up and was putting it back in her hand the way he had found it when Laura said, "Why don't we take the photograph with us, Mr Sanders? That way Sara can be part of our conversation."

Greg looked at the picture, brushing his fingers over the two smiling faces and turned his head toward Laura, nodding. He bent low over Sara and whispered in her ear, "I'm only just borrowing it; don't go accusing me of theft again. And no, before you ask, it's nothing kinky," he repressed a shiver, "what do you take me for? Grissom's all yours."

Purcell held the door open and showed them to the family room. He checked his watch, stifling a yawn. "I'll be catching some sleep on the couch in my office, Mrs Sidle. Dr Vandenberg and Mrs Ward will be here around nine to talk to you."

"Thank you," Laura said, while Greg made a beeline for the coffee machine. "I appreciate you staying behind waiting for me, and what you've done since."

Purcell nodded and left them.

Greg scanned his eyes over the machine, pondering the choices. He took out his wallet, fed the machine a few coins and keyed in his selection. "Would you like a coffee, Mrs Sidle?" he asked, frowning at the murky look of the frothy mixture trickling down into the cup before glancing round toward Laura.

Taking a seat, Laura nodded her head with a smile. "Thank you. Milk only. And, please call me Laura."

Greg removed his cup, fed a few more coins into the machine and drumming his fingers on the metal front waited for Laura's cup to fill.

"You too work with Sara?" Laura asked breaking the silence.

Greg turned round, nodding his head in reply. "Level one, that's me!" The tone was bright enough but he couldn't get the spirit behind his words. He sighed, turning back toward the machine to hide his discomfort. "I used to work DNA evidence in the lab and now that I'm in the field Sara's kind of taken me under her wing."

This caused Laura her first real smile of the night. "She's a good CSI, is she?"

"The best," he said without hesitation. Laura gave a small laugh at the vehemence of Greg's reply. "It's true, you know? She is," he insisted, picking up Laura's coffee.

Laura's smile stayed on as she thought about his words. "Do you work…are you all night owls?" she then asked as he joined her side.

The question gave Greg pause and he shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we are; we work the night shift after all." His expression turned melancholy. "Sara's the worst. She can stay up three days straight. She's famous for it at the lab." He placed the cups on the low table in front of them. "Did you want something to eat?" he asked quickly, as though he'd only just remembered his manners.

"No, I'm not hungry," Laura replied with a smile. "Thank you." She leaned across to pick up her coffee, brought the cup to her mouth and blew off a little steam.

"Yeah. Me neither," Greg said, watching Laura intently as she drank. "You know," he said musingly, "you remind me a lot of her."

Laura nodded. "This other friend of hers who came by earlier said I looked like her. Nick, was it?"

Greg nodded. "You do but it's not that. It's the mannerisms, the way you hold your cup…and also your voice, the way it lilts and raises at the end of a sentence." Greg smiled, and feeling silly for what he'd just said picked up his own cup. He took a small tentative sip, his face screwing into a disgusted grimace. "Piss water," he muttered under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

Greg reddened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to hear that."

Laura laughed. "Oh, Mr Sanders, you're a breath of fresh air."

Greg shrugged easily. "Call me Greg, please." Laura watched him, smiling fondly. "It's what we call bad coffee at the lab," he explained. "Shame I don't have any Blue Hawaiian at hand. Sara can't get enough of it. I have to hide it or else she gets cranky if she gets too much of the stuff…well, more so than usual, anyway."

"You seem to know Sara pretty well," Laura said quietly, taking another sip of her coffee.

Greg lifted his shoulder into another shrug. "Ever since she first stepped in the lab back in 2000, I've had this massive crush on her. Massive," he said, grinning like an oaf. His grin died abruptly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's not appropriate in the circumstance."

"Would Sara think so?"

A shadow crossing his eyes, Greg shook his head. "No. In our job, we tend to develop a warped sense of humour and sometimes we forget other people don't see it that way."

"It's okay, Greg. You haven't offended me. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me about Sara."

Greg nodded. Suddenly feeling restless, he got up, moving to the window looking out towards the city lights. He shoved his hands in his pockets removing Sara's picture out of it and with his back to Laura, stared intently into Sara's bright eyes. "Sara knows about this crush of mine," he continued quietly, looking at the picture. "Everyone does; it's no big secret but Sara, she's always been kind about it. She humours me because she knows ultimately that that's all it is. A crush."

He lapsed into a wistful silence, his gaze moving to the lights of moving traffic below. "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" he asked after a moment. When Laura didn't respond, he turned round adding, "I know about the two of you …being-" he shrugged the rest of the sentence off.

"Estranged?" Laura prompted with a sad smile. To Greg's small nod, she added, "Has she told you why?"

"No. Sara's very guarded about her private life and I'd never ask."

"You know this…Nick said exactly the same thing about her," she said, her smile stiffening.

Aware that he'd altered the mood drastically, Greg returned his gaze to the photograph in his hands.

Laura watched him, saying after a moment, "You know, Greg, you remind me a little of Mattie, Sara's older brother?...when he was much younger. He's older than Sara, quite a fair bit."

Greg looked round with surprise. "Sara mentioned him a couple of times in passing. For some reason," he added with a frown, "I remember her saying he gave her her first surf board?"

"For her eleventh birthday," Laura said laughing. "He regretted it almost immediately. We lived by the ocean then and Sara was desperate to go out surfing with him and his friends. She was too young, of course."

Greg was smiling goofily at the thought of Sara on a surf board. "I've just thought," he exclaimed suddenly, his expression shifting. "Has…he been notified of Sara's…" he swallowed painfully, "…accident?"

Laura nodded. "I left a message on his machine a couple of hours ago." She paused, hesitating and watched Greg for a moment before adding, "I haven't spoken to him for as long as I haven't spoken to Sara. Neither ever returned my attempts at contacting them." Laura smiled, shrugging her shoulders a little apologetically. "He's an elementary school principal in Baltimore," she added.

Greg's smile became a little uneasy and he looked down toward his hands, watching as his fingers played nervously with the photograph. "You seem very together, very at peace with the situation, considering-"

"I put up a good front," she said quickly. "Besides, I've learnt the hard way to accept what life throws at me. I've learnt to accept my penitence." Laura paused, watching Greg as he fingered the picture. "Could you tell me more about Sara?" Greg looked up and she nodded toward the picture. "About Sara and this Mr Grissom?"

Greg registered a look of surprise, visibly perking up. "Sara and Grissom? Sure, I got all the juicy gossip. What do you want to know?"

Laura smiled at the easy way Greg had diffused the awkwardness. "Was she happy?"

Greg's smiled broadened and he returned to his chair, handing the picture over to Laura. "Recently, yes. I'd never seen her happier. More fulfilled, contented. Sometimes Sara could act like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders but recently she was more carefree. I mean, we all have good days and bad days, especially in our work but still, Sara ploughed through with a smile."

Laura's gaze was fixed on the two smiling faces on the picture. "I can see this was taken in San Francisco but do you know when?" she asked.

Greg leaned over and examined the picture closely. "Well, Grissom's changed a fair bit since then but not so much Sara, although they both look younger, a lot younger actually." He frowned as he considered his answer.

"What is it?"

Greg lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "I'd say this was taken before Sara came to Vegas."

"They've known each other that long?" Laura asked, the surprise evident in her tone.

Greg nodded in reply, picking up his coffee. "I wasn't privy to all the details but I know for a fact that they were friends before Sara moved to Vegas. In fact, she only moved here from San Francisco because Grissom asked her to."

"Does he love my daughter?" she then asked Greg candidly, causing him to snort and splutter, choking on his mouthful of coffee. Laura leaned over, patting Greg's back while he recovered. When he finally stopped coughing and looked round, he had tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," Laura apologised quickly. "I should have thought this would make you uncomfortable considering…"

Greg wiped his tears off. "My crush?" He brushed her concern off with a wide grin and a casual wave of his hand. "No. It's just that I suddenly had a vision of the two of them…you know…" he shuddered, "and it wasn't pretty!"

Laura laughed. "I'm sorry. I forgot he is your boss."

He nodded, his mind wandering back to her original question. "You know, before the…attack we had no idea they were together. None at all; it came as a complete shock, believe me. Since, I've thought about little else and a lot of stuff's starting to make sense."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Griss and Sara have always had this weird mental connection at work; she'd…know what he was thinking before he'd even finished thinking it himself, that kind of things. And that created sparks at times, because you know Sara can get a little…fiery. But I guess they had that same connection on a more personal level."

Laura remained silent, merely nodding her head distractedly.

"They've been living together," Greg continued eagerly, shaking his head in disbelief that he was finding it so easy to unburden on someone he had only just met. "For _months_ apparently, from what Catherine let slip, and without anyone knowing."

"Catherine?"

"She's another night owl," Greg said with a smile. "And they have Hank, which we didn't know about. It's been hard on him too," he added, lapsing into a wistful silence.

Laura gasped and brought a shaky hand to her mouth. "They have a child together?"

Greg's eyes widened. "A child? God, no. No," he insisted, his gaze clouding over. "Hank's their dog."

"What is it, Greg?" Laura asked.

Greg looked up with a start. "Huh?"

She reached across and squeezed his hand. "What have you remembered?" she asked him softly. "What's causing the sudden pain in your eyes?"

Greg averted his gaze to his lap, shaking his head forlornly. He took a breath and shrugged a small shoulder. "When Sara was attacked, she was running at the park…"

"I know that. It's all over the news."

Greg nodded. "She was running with Hank. If it hadn't been for him running all the way home to raise the alarm with Grissom, Sara might not be here at all. Grissom did what he could of course but…" He sighed. "He's not been right since."

Laura closed her eyes, taking in a deep fraught breath. "Where is he, then? I've been trying to contact him all night but-"

Greg couldn't help the look of surprise on his face. "Haven't you heard? He's been…hum…taken hostage."

Laura gasped. "Taken hostage?"

Greg nodded his head sadly. "While chasing Sara's attackers. That's what I came to see Sara for; let her know why Griss wasn't with her."

"Taken hostage?" Laura repeated in an incredulous gasp.

"He managed to get a call out though and-"

"Oh, my God," she murmured to herself. "I thought he didn't care, that he couldn't love her if-" she let her words trail with a sad shake of the head and raised questioning eyes to Greg.

The CSI smiled comfortingly. "We traced the call to somewhere near Reno," he explained unaware of Laura's inner struggle. "I haven't heard anything since but…we'll find him."

"How can you be so sure?"

Greg's smile broadened. "He's made us into the best. It's only a matter of time before we do."

"Time's the only thing we haven't got."

"Why not?" Greg asked candidly.

Seemingly lost in her own thoughts, Laura gave a distracted small shake of the head but didn't reply.

"Maybe I should try Catherine again," he then said. "See if she's got any news." He scooted down the seat and slipped his cell out of his pocket, switching it back on. Immediately, he was alerted to a missed call from Catherine and got up, quick-dialling her number. "Do you mind?" he asked Laura, with a small wave of his cell.

Laura shook her head. "No. Please, do."

Greg moved toward the window and turned away when he heard Catherine pick up. "Cath? It's me, Greg."

"Where are you? I've been trying to call you."

He brought the phone closer his mouth. "I'm at the hospital with Sara's mom."

"Sara's mom?" Catherine repeated with surprise.

Ignoring Catherine's question Greg asked, "Have Brass and Warrick got to Reno yet?" Then on hearing her long sigh and fearing the worst, he added quickly, "What is it, Catherine? Have they found him?"

"Yes," came Catherine's hesitant reply. "I've just heard from Warrick." There was a pause. "It's not good, Greg."

* * *

"Sara, honey, wait for me!" Sara was running, almost floating, getting further and further away from him. Breathless, Grissom held out his hand toward her, calling again and again, "Sara, wait for me!"

Out of the blue, Sara stopped and turned, smiling and looking all around her uncertainly. Then she saw him. "Gil, what are you doing here?"

Grissom smiled lovingly, shrugging softly as though the answer was evident. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Sara said, her voice softening with love. She seemed to float back toward him. "You're not. You can't. You can't come with me; it's not your time."

"It's not yours either."

"You know it is. My mom's here now; she's signed the papers."

"No."

"_Sir! We got the trunk open."_

"You mustn't let McKay win," Sara continued softly, her voice taking a haunting tone. "You must go back. You must fight and come back to me."

"I'm tired, Sara. I'm just so very tired. I just want to go to sleep."

Sara took his face in her hands and stared into his eyes. "You can't."

"_Jesus Christ! Grissom! Grissom, it's me! Brass. Can you hear me?"_

"I just want to lie down beside you and for both of us to go to sleep."

"I know you do but we can't. You can't. Not just yet. That's not how it's supposed to happen." Sara shook him gently.

"_Grissom, please, answer me!" _Brass shouted as he put his hand on Grissom's chest, gently shaking him.

"_Oh, my God, Jim, look at the state of him. Is he…d-still breathing?"_

"I'm scared, Sara."

"Don't be." She smiled. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

"I don't want to lose you."

Sara stroked her fingers to the pulse point on his neck. "You can never lose me. I'm here. I'll stay with you."

"_I think I feel a pulse,"_ Brass said, his fingers moving to Grissom's throat._ "Warrick, I feel a pulse!"_

"_Grissom? It's me, Warrick. Can you hear me, man? Can you hear me?"_

"I'm cold…so very cold."

"It's the shock, Gil. Help is on its way. Brass and Warrick are here."

"Are they?"

"They're going to take care of you."

"I can't feel anything."

Sara cupped his face in her hands. "You're going to be okay, Gil. You're going to be fine. Let them take care of you."

"Don't go. Sara, please don't go. Not without me."

"I have to."

"I haven't said goodbye."

She brushed her fingers over his eyes. "You don't need to say goodbye, my love."

"Please, Sara…"

"_He's not responding!" _Brass said, pulling Grissom's left eye open.

"_Where are the paramedics? We need the paramedics!"_ Warrick shouted.

"Warrick?"

"Yes, that's right, Gil. Warrick's here."

"Take me with you."

"I've got to leave you behind, my love. I have no choice."

"I can't breathe."

Sara's soft lips pressed a gentle kiss over his lips. "You've got to. You've got to keep us alive, keep me alive in you. Alive in here," she said placing her hand over his heart and then over his eyes. "Or else she'll have won. I'll always be the light shining brightest in your eyes. Always remember that."

"But Sara…the ring. She took your ring. She's wearing it. I wanted you to have it before you go."

"I don't need a ring to know you love me. I know that in my heart."

Darkness fell all around him. "Sara…"

"_The paramedics are on their way down, Sir."_

"_Gil, help is on its way!" _Brass shouted. _"You got to hang in there, do you hear me!"_

"…I'm coming with you."

"No, Gil." Sara's tone was firm. "That's not how it's supposed to happen."

"_What's his name?" _the paramedic asked.

"_Grissom. His name's Grissom. Gil Grissom."_

Two sweaty fingers fell on Grissom's throat._ "Gil! Gil! Can you hear me? My name's Phil. I'm a paramedic. I'm going to help you. Can you try to say something? Open your eyes?"_

"Sara…"

* * *

Tbc.


	39. Chapter 39

"The paramedics are on their way down, Sir," one of the highway patrolman told Brass, pointing toward the hillside.

Brass straightened up and out of the trunk, turning toward where the officer was pointing and followed with his eyes the swinging beams of the paramedics and fire department's flashlights as they hurried down the slope. On seeing the first people had almost reached the bottom, he let out a long breath of relief and turned toward Warrick, clasping his hand on the CSI's shoulder comfortingly. Warrick turned his bleary gaze from the dark hillside toward the police captain and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"He's going to be okay," Brass told Warrick warmly. "He's going to be okay. We got to him in time."

Stunned into silence and his eyes wide with fear at finding Grissom in the trunk, Warrick could only nod his head in response before closing his eyes and taking in a shuddering breath of relief.

Brass turned back toward Grissom enclosed in the trunk of the mangled Thunderbird. "Gil, help is on its way!" he relayed in a shout. "You got to hang in there, do you hear me!" He waited for a response, a grunt, a moan, anything that would indicate some consciousness on Grissom's part but none came. He reached a hesitant hand toward his friend but in view of his injuries thought better of it, and turned when he heard heavy panting behind him.

The first paramedic took a moment to catch his breath, dumping his heavy load to the ground. "What's his name?" he then asked, pushing Brass out of the way and shining his light over Grissom's face.

Brass moved back. "Grissom," he replied anxiously. "His name's Grissom. Gil Grissom."

Brass watched as the paramedic looked into the trunk, scanning a quick gaze over Grissom's body, his eyes widening slightly at the sight. The CSI lay on his side, looking like he had been put through a wringer with obvious critical facial injuries. Both eyes were swollen shut; his head slumped limply onto the car flooring, sweaty and blood-streaked. His arms were tied behind his back, his feet and lower legs wedged in the collapsed rear wheel arch on the right hand-side. The paramedic's light seemed to linger over the darkened crimson of Grissom's blood-soaked pant legs, causing Brass to avert his fearful gaze back to his friend's face.

Grissom's visibly broken nose had stopped bleeding, dark blood crusted over but fresher blood was seeping out of the many abrasions on his face and more worryingly from a deeper laceration on his forehead. Silently, Brass swung his light over the underside of the trunk lid, noting the blood and bloodied flesh and hairs embedded in the sharp edges of the metal where the CSI's head collided during the crash. He took a deep breath trying to calm his racing heart and negative thoughts, and watched as the paramedic adeptly slipped on a pair of latex gloves and reached in, carefully edging two fingers to the injured CSI's throat.

"Gil!" the EMT called loudly. "Gil! Can you hear me?" He waited a beat. "My name's Phil. I'm a paramedic. I'm going to help you. Can you try to say something? Open your eyes?"

Phil waited and then glanced round over his shoulder, shaking his head at his colleague. "There's a pulse, a faint one but he's not responsive," he said, pausing. He rose on his tiptoes, shining his light toward the front of the car and smelled the air all around him. "What's that smell?" he then asked Brass. "Did the car catch fire?"

Warrick moved forward a little. "Just the engine bay and the front of the cab," he said, "but highway patrol got it under control before it had time to reach the trunk."

"Still, we can't rule out possible smoke inhalation," Phil said, handing Brass his flashlight to hold. He felt gentle hands over Grissom's chest, feeling some broken ribs on the left side, stopping unexpectedly. "I smell something else," he said. "And not the obvious bodily fluids."

Frowning, Warrick leaned in his head inside the trunk and took a sniff. "Booze?" he said with disbelief.

The EMT took out his stethoscope, which he slipped in through the front opening of Grissom's shirt. "Is he a drinker?" he asked.

"No!" Warrick exclaimed defensively.

"Not under normal circumstances," Brass amended, "but when I spoke to him on the phone he said he'd been drinking when he got taken." His eyes widened dramatically. "He also said that McKay had slipped him something."

"Tranquilizers?" the second paramedic said as he hooked up a portable cardiac monitor.

Phil lifted an uncertain shoulder. "Drugs and alcohol…that's all we need on top of all this." He lapsed into silence, moving the silver disk of the stethoscope at regular intervals over Grissom's chest. "Alex, we got diminished breath sounds on the left side," he told his colleague, straitening up.

"Pneumothorax?"

"Most probably," Phil replied, curling the stethoscope around his neck. "Well, we just got to hope he was already unconscious when all this unfolded."

"Is that serious?" Brass asked anxiously, ignoring the paramedic's comment, the word 'pneumothorax' echoing hauntingly in his head.

"Do you want to intubate?" Alex asked at the same time.

Phil lifted a hand at Brass, indicating that he would answer him in a minute. Turning toward his colleague, he replied, "No. Not if we can avoid it. He's breathing by himself at the moment. Let's just put him on oxygen for now, on IV fluids if we can get a line in and see how he responds."

While the second paramedic prepares all the necessary equipment, Phil turned toward Brass and Warrick, explaining, "Your friend's got some air trapped inside his chest cavity, most probably caused by a direct blow to the area. Without a chest X-ray, there's very little we can do about it at the moment but aid his breathing with some oxygen."

His eyes on Grissom, Brass nodded his head in understanding.

Phil took the oxygen mask handed to him and leaned into the opening of the trunk as much as he could. "Sir," he told Brass, "can you shine the light over here, please?" Brass did a double take and redirected the beam of his light. Taking great care not to exacerbate Grissom's broken nose, the EMT deftly slipped the mask over the CSI's face while Alex adjusted and then held out the portable oxygen cylinder for Warrick to hold, which the CSI did.

Grabbing the flashlight off Brass, Phil peered over the top of Grissom's body, squinting toward the back of the dark trunk. He took in the position of the injured man's arms twisted at a funny angle behind his back indicating possible shoulder dislocations, and the bloodied binds that had cut deep ridges into his patient's wrists, remarking the slight blue tinge to his right hand. He frowned and reached in even more, feeling his free hand along the length of both Grissom's arms in turn. He stopped, shaking his head at the sharp feel of bone sticking out from under Grissom's blood-soaked shirt.

"Compound fracture of the right ulna, that may have nicked a vein or artery," he told his partner as he wiped the excess blood off his glove onto his leg pant. "The blood loss _feels_ quite extensive but I can't get a good look at it without moving him. Alex, can you pass me some sharp scissors? His wrists are bound tight together restricting the blood flow to his hands even more."

Warrick took in a deep, calming breath, shaking his head desolately at the paramedic's words. He scrunched his eyes shut, visibly struggling to keep a hold of his emotions. Knowing how much Grissom meant to him, Brass silently patted the CSI on the shoulder, unable to find words that would bring him even a little comfort. Warrick reopened his eyes, nodding at Brass's kind gesture. Meanwhile, his movement swift and precise, Phil had easily cut the plastic tie binding Grissom's wrists together and was now handing it to Brass.

"I believe you're going to want to keep that," the EMT told the detective.

Brass gave Warrick a gentle nudge of the arm, causing the CSI to startle out of his stupor. He looked all around him for his trusted field kit and then remembered he'd left it on the helicopter. Passing the oxygen cylinder to Brass, he stooped low and picked up the first-aid kit he'd carried with him instead, removing a plastic bag from it. He hastily opened it out to the paramedic who dropped the plastic cable tie into it.

Taking a breath, the paramedic turned toward Brass, asking, "How long has he been in this position for?"

Brass shared a look with Warrick. "We're not entirely sure," he said. "But we think for a good six to seven hours."

Phil nodded gravely and began to cut through Grissom's shirt. He was about to attach cardiac electrodes to Grissom's chest when a Reno PD uniformed officer came up to Brass.

"Sir, the medics pronounced on the male DB," the officer said. "We found the deceased driver's licence and IDed him as one Martin Wallis of Las Vegas. Is he the guy you were after?"

Brass glanced at the officer, nodding his head in reply.

"Okay. Reno coroner's office has been notified but they might be a while coming. Sergeant Baker's already on his way over too. He should be here shortly."

"Okay," said Brass. "Thank you." The officer left and Brass turned toward Warrick. "I've been thinking," he said. "If both Wallis and Grissom were in the car, then the chances are McKay was as well."

Warrick pursed his face at Brass's words and scanned his gaze over the pitch black expanse of desert around them. "I don't know, Jim," he replied. "Something happened between Fallon where Griss made the call, and here…They just didn't cover enough distance in the time they had to-"

"Maybe they stopped on the way for food and gas," Brass interjected.

Warrick shook his head. "The tank had to have been almost empty at the time of the crash or the car would have exploded." He let out a breath. "I got a feeling she isn't here, Jim. She definitely wasn't in the car when I checked before the fire took hold."

Brass pondered the CSI's words, watching as Phil carefully inserted the fourteen-gauge needle of the IV catheter into the jugular vein on the left side of Grissom's neck.

"Nicely done," Brass heard Alex comment as he passed his colleague the IV line. "Where have you seen that done before?"

Phil turned round, looking a little bewildered himself. "I haven't," he stammered. "That's the only peripheral vein I could find without moving him."

Brass cleared his throat uneasily, averting his gaze from Grissom. "Still," he said in reply to Warrick. "Until Grissom wakes up, we won't know for sure if she was in the car or not. I'm going to ask our Reno PD counterparts to organise a search of the hillside. She could have been thrown out of the vehicle as it careened down."

"We'd have seen her on our way down," Warrick countered.

"It's dark out there, Warrick and truth be told I was more concerned with not losing my footing and getting to Grissom than looking for her body."

Warrick considered Brass's words and then nodded his head. "Okay," he said, "it won't hurt to look anyway. But I'm staying here with Griss."

"You do that," Brass said, clasping the CSI on the shoulder. "You do that."

After arranging for all available hands to start looking for McKay, Brass came back to Warrick's side, watching warily as the paramedics and the fire department rescue team talked animatedly.

Turning toward the trunk he asked Warrick, "How is he doing?"

Warrick shrugged, raising the bag of saline he was holding higher up. "He's still breathing unaided and stable for now. His BP's low, which is to be expected and indicative of possible internal bleeding but they can't do much about that at the moment. They can't move him too much because of the broken bones they can't splint and in case he sustained some spinal injury during the crash."

Sighing, Brass nodded his head in understanding. "And what's happening now? What's the holdup?"

"They're discussing the best way of getting him out of this godforsaken trunk!" Warrick exclaimed anxiously. He took a moment to compose himself before explaining, "With his legs stuck the way they are, they're assuming the worst - more broken bones, external bleeding and crush syndrome. Whatever that is."

"Jesus." Brass took in a deep breath and closing his eyes ran a weary hand over his head.

"No signs of McKay?" Warrick asked with a backward nod of his head toward the beams of flashlights spreading out in a grid-like pattern over the desert around them.

"Not so far."

"Okay," Phil said loudly, walking toward Brass and Warrick. "We can't move him because of the way his legs are jammed. So, FD's going to cut him out of the wreck. He's as comfortable as he can be in the circumstance but we're going to give him another shot of morphine anyway."

Both Warrick and Brass nodded their heads, satisfied that the rescue team was doing their best and watched as a tarpaulin was loosely laid over Grissom's body in order to shield him from the worst of the sparks caused by the cutting tools. Daylight was slowly beginning to break over the Nevada desert giving the devastation of the crash site a new light. If McKay was there, injured or better still dead, it was only a matter of time before she was found.

Cutting Grissom out of the wreck took a little over an hour. The instant the rescue team attempted to lift and pull him onto a back board Grissom let out a loud growl of deep agonising pain.

"Grissom!" Warrick exclaimed. "It's me Warrick! We got you, man! We got you."

"Let's move him quickly!" Phil shouted out, "He's regaining consciousness."

"Don't move buddy," Brass said as the rescue team finished moving Grissom onto the spinal board. "You're safe now." Grissom let out another excruciating moan through the oxygen mask. "You're on your way out of this hell," Brass continued. "You're in safe hands." Then, turning toward Phil, the police captain gritted anxiously, "I thought you'd given him some more morphine."

"We have. We have, Sir. But I'm concerned about the strain all this is putting on his heart."

"His heart?" Warrick cried out. "I thought you said his heart was beating just fine."

Phil took a breath and was about to explain about the arrhythmia in Grissom's heartbeat when he noticed Grissom was trying to lift his head. Crouching down by the injured man's side, he said, "Sir, please, you mustn't try to move. We must keep you as still as possible and on your side."

Grissom seemed to nod his head at the paramedic's words and instantly stopped his weak struggle. Heavily-swollen eyes fluttered as though he was trying but couldn't open them and then he spoke in a groan.

"I know you're hurting," the paramedic continued soothingly, "and it's going to hurt for a little while longer but until we get you to a hospital, I've done all I can." Phil looked at the rest of the rescue team and then said to Grissom. "I'm going to count to three and at three, we're going to lift you out of the trunk and down onto the stretcher, all right?"

Grissom nodded his head weakly, grunting in pain as they lifted him out even though great care was taken in the manoeuvre.

"That's it, Gil," Phil said. "You can relax now. But don't try to move please. Just concentrate on taking deep, slow breaths." Phil began to strap Grissom in securely ready for the slow trek up the hillside. "I'm going to strap you in as tight as I can and we'll be on our way to Reno."

At the mention of Reno, Grissom grew agitated. He tried moving his head and talking but because of the oxygen mask, his words came out a garbled mess.

"Hang on," Brass told the paramedic. "He's trying to talk."

"Sir, we haven't got time," the EMT replied. "He needs urgent ER medical attention."

"Just a minute. Please," Brass pleaded. Phil stared at Brass and then reluctantly let out a breath, nodding his head. Brass pulled the oxygen mask away from Grissom's mouth and leaned in close.

"'ara…" the CSI mumbled weakly.

Brass frowned, sharing a look with Warrick, who just shrugged, shaking his head.

"Gil, I don't understand what you're trying to say," said Brass.

"Sa-ra," Grissom repeated in a small gasp.

Brass strained to hear but then shook his head. "Listen, Gil, it doesn't matter," he said brightly. "You can tell us later."

Grissom was becoming more and more distressed, his head moving restlessly in the restraints. "Sara," he repeated more clearly this time.

"Sara?" Brass swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat, looking anxiously toward Warrick. "Gil, Sara wasn't in the car, buddy. She wasn't in the car," he repeated clearly.

Grissom's head seemed to be shaking from side to side. "The ring…" he said in a fraught whisper.

"The ring?" Brass scrunched his face in puzzlement. "Gil, I don't understand. What ring?"

"Sara's ring…she's wearing it…McKay…"

"McKay?" Brass repeated. "Did you say McKay?"

Grissom's head slumped to the side as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

"That's enough," Phil said, "We're good to go _now_."

Brass ignored the paramedic's command and raised a questioning glance toward Warrick. The latter just shrugged uncertainly. "Gil, was that a yes?" the police captain asked anxiously, turning his attention back to his friend. "Was McKay in the car?" Grissom's head seemed to loll into another nod, tears of pain and anxiety, spilling out of his swollen eyes. "Gil, I need to know. Was McKay in the car with you and Wallis?"

"No," Grissom managed to gasp.

"She wasn't in the car?" Brass asked with disbelief, his gaze flicking to the men scattered about, searching the surrounding area.

"No."

"Sir, we're going now," Phil said firmly.

Brass nodded grimly and was about to put the oxygen mask over Grissom's mouth when the latter grumbled, "Jim, I…can't feel anything."

Brass shared a grim look with the paramedics. "It's okay, buddy," he said comfortingly. "They've given you a bunch of stuff to take the edge off. They're going to fix you. You're on your way to the hospital in Reno."

"No." Grissom's sudden distress was plain to see. He tried to lift his head, tilting it up toward Brass's face. "Jim, Sara..."

Brass pulled a pained face and looked around him helplessly. Warrick said, "I think he just wants Sara."

Brass let out a long sigh and moving close to Grissom's ear, whispered, "Sara's in Vegas, Gil. She's not here."

"Vegas…back to Vegas," Grissom wheezed painfully.

Brass looked up toward the paramedic, who instructed Brass to replace the oxygen mask over Grissom's face with a sharp finger. "Can we do that if we call a Medivac?" the detective asked impatiently, doing as he was told. "It'll be here by the time we've got him up to the highway."

Brass was silenced by the paramedic's brisk shake of his head. "No, Sir," he replied resolutely. "He can't be transported by chopper because of the pneumothorax. Besides, I'm worried about the extra strain this rescue has already put on his heart. His breathing's getting more and more laboured and he's lost a lot of blood already. Vegas is just too far. St Mary's is only a fifteen-minute ride away at this time of the night. They'll take good care of him there, Sir."

The look of resignation that crossed Grissom's features was heartbreaking but there was nothing Brass could do about it. He sighed, nodding his understanding and moving out of the way.

Phil looked at the men around him and nodded his head at them. "Okay, let's go," he said. "Nice and steady. We need to keep him as still as we can."

"I'm going to stay here," Brass told Warrick as the rescue team heaved the stretcher. "Get Sergeant Baker to call off the search." Warrick nodded his head, his eyes fixed on Grissom's face. "I'll see if we can recover something from the car indicative of McKay's whereabouts. A map maybe, a scrap of paper with an address…I don't know, anything."

"Whatever evidence in the car's been destroyed by the fire," Warrick said, as he began to walk alongside the stretcher while making sure that Grissom's IV and oxygen lines were clear. Brass followed suit. "See if you can get a radio call out to Catherine. I can't get a cell connection from here. She may have dug up something."

"Okay. Get them to take a look at your arm, will you?"

The dejected CSI didn't reply. He just nodded distractedly as he continued his slow trek up the escarpment.

Brass stopped. "Keep me posted on Grissom, all right, Rick?" he called out.

Brass watched wearily as the rescue team slowly meandered their way up the tricky uphill terrain. In the new light of day, it didn't look as steep or as rugged as it had first appeared. The police captain took a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts before heading back down toward the wreck.

If McKay wasn't there, where the hell was she?

* * *

A/N: Sadly, I'm no doctor and all my knowledge comes from research on the internet. I just don't know how more mistakes aren't made by trauma doctors and paramedics out there in the field; they do fantastic jobs in difficult circumstances. Anyway, I apologise for the mistakes and misdiagnoses that are bound to litter the chapter. Please, be lenient.


	40. Chapter 40

The wailing sound of a Reno PD cruiser's sirens rushing by on the nearby interstate woke Joanne with a start. She sat up abruptly and took quick stock of her surroundings. Scrunching her eyes at the bright dawn light, she sighed and rolled out from under the plastic cover of the black Mitsubishi pickup truck's flatbed, shaking herself up back to the present. How could she have fallen asleep when she had only meant to conceal herself until Marty came back for her?

She would show him who was boss, she thought, barely able to contain the still smouldering anger after the events of the previous night. How could she have let herself be tossed her out of the car like that? She would never have thought in a million years he would have driven off in a cloud of dust and left her stranded on the roadside. Not even after waiting five minutes had she believed he wouldn't come back for her.

He was volatile and flew off the handle often enough but usually never stayed cross for long. He always, always came crawling back to her with his tail between his legs. And she knew above everything else that his loyalty had no bounds but she had underestimated his jealous streak, especially concerning Grissom. Eventually when five minutes turned to fifteen she realised he wasn't coming back for her, and remembering the motel they had passed a mile or so back, had walked her way back to it in pitch darkness. When a convoy of police cars and emergency vehicles had suddenly raced by, she had run for cover and sought refuge in the back of the Mitsubishi truck.

She furiously gathered her purse and slipped her red shoes back on over her sore feet. She shuffled forward a little, her skirt riding upwards, and shielding her eyes from the sun, scanned her gaze all around the roadside motel car lot, making absolutely sure that the latter was deserted. Satisfied that it was, she jumped off the back of the truck and dusted herself down, wondering how she was going to get herself out of this mess and make her way north to the farm. Surely, Marty would already be there waiting for her with Grissom, wouldn't he?

6.00: the bright red neon light in the motel's diner's window informed her it was. She sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair, thinking that she could kill right now for just a quick suck on a cigarette. She frantically rummaged in her purse and let out a frustrated growl when she found nothing but an empty, crumpled packet.

She moved round the side of the truck and cupped her hands against the window pane, taking a peek inside wondering whether she could just steal the truck. But the small flashing lights of an alarm system immediately put paid to that thought. The sudden roaring engine of a speeding ambulance on the I-80 startled her and she stooped low, hiding. She peered up and watched through the truck windows the red and blue lights of the ambulance retreat into the distance before slowly straightening up. Catching her reflection in the window she took a moment to compose herself and carefully fix her hair and face with her fingers. She was turning round, considering her options when she jumped a mile off in surprise.

"Hey, gorgeous," drawled a laughing male voice coming toward her. "You're looking for ride?"

Immediately in her element, McKay leaned back against the truck door and flashed her best grin at the guy. "Depends on the ride," she teased.

The man smiled pleasurably, beeped his truck unlocked and brushing past her shoulder opened the door. "Where are you headed?" he asked throwing his overnight bag on the back seat.

"Depends. Where are you going?"

The guy's face lit up with delight. "I'd go to the end of the earth and back with you, hon, but unfortunately it's got to be south."

"And why's that, Angel?" Joanne asked in a purr, one hand resting on the roof of the truck, the other propping the door open.

The guy shrugged easily and grabbed a pack of cigarette out of his back pocket. He waited until he had lit up and was offering one to Joanne to reply, "Didn't you hear? It's all over the local news. The interstate's shut. Been shut half the night and should be for most of the morning while they clean up."

Joanne slowly pulled out a cigarette from the pack and swallowed nervously, a sense of foreboding flooding her. "What happened?" she asked nervily.

"Some crazy-ass dude decided to run a road block," he replied, handing Joanne his lighter. "The word is the cops extinguished him to oblivion, if you see what I mean."

Joanne brought a trembling flame to the cigarette in her mouth and nodded distractedly in reply, her smile long gone. "Was-was the guy on his own?"

"You okay?" the guy asked with concern. "You seem kind of shaky all of a sudden." Joanne took a long drag of the cigarette and closing her eyes, returned the lighter. The guy took it while watching with interest as she slowly exhaled the smoke through her nose. "You still want a ride?" he asked. "I got to head off."

She forced a smile, nodding her head. "God, I needed that," she moaned with pleasure, pushing her hair back from her face. "I ran out." She lapsed into silence, debating with herself what to do as the guy got behind the wheel of his truck. "You going all the way to Vegas?" she then asked.

The guy winked at her. "Hop on," he said, with a sleazy smile. They had been on the road for less than five minutes when he threw her yet another sideways glance before asking, "You argued with your man?"

Joanne startled a look of confusion toward him. "What?"

The guy nodded toward the ring on her finger she was still restlessly toying with.

Joanne followed his gaze. "He's not in the picture anymore," she said in reply.

The guy nodded. "The name's Steve."

"Joanne," she replied. "But my friends call me J."

* * *

Laura turned a sorrowful gaze from Janet Ward, the organ procurement representative to Dr Flanders, Sara's neurosurgeon, and smiled sadly. "And there's absolutely no chance of Sara waking up? You hear of these people who remain in comas for years and then suddenly without explanation, one morning they just wake up as though normal and get up-"

The doctor's sad, silent shake of the head cut short her sentence. "As I explained to you, Mrs Sidle, Sara is _not_ in a coma. She isn't going to wake up. I know you're hoping for a miracle and it's understandable but it just won't happen. I'm afraid it's just not medically possible."

Wiping her tears from her eyes, Laura swallowed and nodded her head at the doctor in understanding, averting her eyes to the CT images of Sara's brain on the wall-mounted light box. She trusted Doctor Flanders; she trusted he had tried to do everything in his power to save her daughter. He had been very sympathetic, patient and clear when he had painstakingly explained the extent of the damage Sara's injuries had caused, going as far as mentioning the abnormal, one time irregularity in her heartbeat and Grissom's remarkable belief that Sara would, against all odds, wake. She trusted he was right and yet there was still a part of her that desperately wanted to believe in a miracle.

Janet looked at her two colleagues, nodding her head in readiness to proceed. "Okay," she said. "Then, I'd like for the serotyping to start as soon as possible."

Looking tired and sleep-deprived, Laura startled. "Serotyping?" she repeated with alarm. "What is that?"

"It's standard procedure in organ transplantation," Janet said reassuringly. "Nothing to worry about."

Doctor Flanders explained, "We're going to need to do some further tests on Sara to check her blood and tissue types, measure the size of her organs, that kind of things, so that we can find the most suitable recipients for them." He paused, giving Laura time to understand. "If we were to transplant one of Sara's organs onto a recipient that did not match Sara's serotype then the organ would be rejected, and that is something we wish to avoid at all costs."

Looking worried by what she had heard, Laura asked Janet, "Can anybody…suitable be a recipient of Sara's organs?"

"How do you mean?" the organ procurement representative asked with confusion.

"I don't want Sara's organs to go to anyone. I want them to go to worthy people. People who will value them and cherish their second chance at life. Sara's life and what she chose to do with it has made a difference in the world. She-"

Janet nodded and raised an appeasing hand. "I understand your concerns. You want Sara to live on and for her donation to make a difference-"

"I want Sara to live on in someone who will value her, yes," Laura cut in vehemently.

"I understand that and I can assure you, Mrs Sidle that we have very stringent requirements to assess who gets on the transplant list. We consider the patient's attitude, their psychological state, history of drug abuse, among other factors. Donated organs are rare and a _very_ precious commodity and doctors do not proceed unless they are confident that a patient is physically and mentally prepared for the procedure, as well as life after the procedure." She paused, smiling warmly at Laura. "But most of the patients have been on the list for years and a transplant is their only chance at life and believe me, they _will_ value this brand-new life they get given."

Laura nodded her head, satisfied with Janet's heartfelt reassurance. "Will-will I be able to meet these people afterwards? Check on their health?"

Janet exhaled a long breath in ambivalence. "By law, we have to keep confidentiality of _both_ recipients and donors. But sometimes, a recipient wishes to thank the donor family and if both parties agree than we may pass on contact details."

Laura considered Janet's words for a moment. "Okay," she then said. "Okay. So, how soon does it all happen? Are we talking weeks?"

"No," Janet replied with surprise, throwing a quick, puzzled look toward Dr Flanders. "Once we've carried out the testing on Sara and entered her details into the national database, the program generates a ranked list of potential recipients. We're taking a day – two at the most. Enough time to inform the recipient and start them on immunosuppressants."

"Oh." Laura's face fell, her surprise evident. "A day?" She struggled to keep a brave face. "I thought I had more time. I thought _we_ had more time."

"Time is what the patients in urgent need of a transplant sadly don't have," Janet said compassionately.

Laura nodded blankly, getting lost in her own thoughts. Eventually, she looked up, meeting the younger woman in the eye and said, "Respecting Sara's final wishes _is_ the last thing I can do for her and you can be assured that I won't change my mind." She paused, took a breath and flicked her gaze to Dr Flanders, then to Purcell, and then back to Janet. "But it's not going to be possible right now. I'm very, very sorry and I know that these people on the transplant list are very sick and have been waiting for a very long time for this day but I won't allow you to start – I _can't_ allow you to start," she shook her head at her next word and swallowed nervously, "_harvesting _her organs until Mr Grissom can get back to her."

The hospital administrator let out a frustrated breath and shifted on his chair. "And where _is_ Dr Grissom?" he asked curtly.

"That's what Mr Sanders came to see me about before," Laura said redirecting her gaze onto him. She shook her head, sighing. "It's tragic, really. I don't have all the details but I was told he was involved in some dreadful car accident and he's been taken to St Mary's hospital in Reno."

Noticing Laura's sudden visible distress, Janet reached out a hand to the woman's shoulder. She was about to comfort her when Purcell said brusquely, "Still, as you said, some very sick, _worthy_ people-"

Janet turned a dark look on the hospital administrator. "Paul," she cut in almost angrily. "We can wait."

Laura turned a grateful smile toward Janet, tears shining in her eyes, and patted the younger woman's hand, which was still resting on her shoulder. "You can start the testing, serotyping, whatever, now," she told her emotionally. "You can start matching her organs to the most suitable and needing person." Getting more and more distraught, she turned to glare at Purcell. "But you will wait until Mr Grissom is better and able to come back here to Sara before you start on the transplant. You will wait until he's fit enough to be able to say his goodbyes to my daughter properly."

* * *

"Cath?" Warrick said in a low voice into the hospital public payphone. "It's me."

"Warrick! Thank god! I've been worried sick and trying to call you." There was a pause and a sigh. "How is he?"

"He's still in the OR, Cath," the CSI replied in a fraught whisper. "It's been hours now. I don't know what's taking so long."

"You know what it's like. We just got to trust he's in good hands."

"You should have seen him, Catherine. In that trunk…his injuries…" Warrick's voice broke with emotion and he lapsed into silence. "It's not good."

"I know," Catherine soothed. "I know. I spoke to Brass. He told me. But he also said you got to him in time. You did what you could, Warrick." She paused and when he didn't say anything, she let out a sigh. "Talk to me, Warrick," she added with obvious concern and affection. "How are you bearing up?"

Warrick dried the moisture from his eyes. "I'm okay," he replied finally. "I'll be okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm here for you." Warrick remained silent and Catherine changed tack. "You called Tina and let her know?" she asked.

"Yeah, I did. She'd already left for work. I left a message."

"Brass said you were injured?"

Warrick looked down toward the gauze he'd let the ER nurse coarsely drape over the burn on his arm, and stared blankly at the still-untreated abrasions on his hands. "It's nothing," he said with detachment. "I can't feel a thing."

"Still, Rick, you must get yourself checked out properly. Why don't you go and do it now while Grissom's still in surgery?"

"No-It's okay. The nurse has already taken a look." He shifted uncomfortably and changed hands, glancing round over his shoulder toward two passing nurses. "I'm not leaving here until I know he's going to make it, Cath. It just happened so quickly and I felt so powerless to help him. I really thought this was it for him, you know?" He paused and ran a trembling hand over his face. "And he just wanted Sara. He just wanted to be with her, Cath. It broke my heart."

"He regained consciousness?" she asked in a gasp.

"For a little while." There was an uncomfortable silence and then Warrick took a long breath, saying, "What about McKay? Brass got any leads from the car?"

"Nah. Nothing so far. It all got destroyed in the fire."

Feeling disappointed despite the fact that he had more or less expected it, Warrick sighed, nodding his head dejectedly. "Damn this woman!" he cried out unexpectedly kicking his foot against the wall. "How can she get away with it every time?"

"She's not," Catherine was quick to reassure. "She won't. We'll get her. I dug up an address. Some place out near Winnemucca**."**

"Wnne-what?" Warrick said, Catherine's news a welcomed distraction. "I've never heard of the place."

"It's north of where you are, just off the I-80, an hour or so away from the crash site. Her late husband had a farm there but it's been abandoned for more than ten years and…" she let her words trail, finishing with a despondent, "It's a small shot."

"Why else would she have driven Griss all the way up here if it wasn't to go there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Catherine said. "Anyway, Brass and Reno PD are on their way to check it out as we speak."

Warrick sighed. "I still don't get why, you know? Why she'd want to be doing that to Grissom and Sara."

"She's sick, Warrick. Sick and evil. There's no reasoning her behaviour."

"I just wish she could have died in that car with Wallis."

"You and me both, but we'll get her, Rick, we'll get her. She's got to go down for what she's done – one way or another." Catherine paused but caught up in his own thoughts Warrick remained silent. "Listen Warrick," she continued after a moment, "I'm going to come up to Reno."

"Catherine, no. That's not necessary. Someone's going to have to keep an eye on grave for Griss and-"

"I'll speak to Ecklie. See if we can come up to some…arrangement. Nick can supervise and-"

Warrick turned round, the opening of the heavy doors leading to the OR catching his attention. "Listen, Catherine," he said hurriedly, cutting her off. "One of the doctors is coming out of the OR. Maybe he's got some news; I'll call you back later."

"Warrick! Warrick!"

The CSI heard Catherine' frantic call but didn't acknowledge them. He hurriedly put the phone down and pushing off the wall, rushed down the corridor toward the surgeon. Catching up with him, he clasped him by the shoulder. "How is he doing, Doctor?" he asked eagerly.

Startled, the surgeon turned round. "I'm sorry, Sir. Who are you?"

Warrick scrambled in the inner pocket of his jacket for his badge. "I'm Warrick Brown. I'm a CSI from Vegas." His voice wavered. "I-I'm a friend of Grissom's. He's being operated on right now-"

The surgeon raised his hand, stopping Warrick mid-flow. "I know who you're talking about. We just finished on him."

Warrick let out a sigh. "And?" he asked expectantly.

* * *

Tbc.


	41. Chapter 41

"I'm Warrick Brown. I'm a CSI from Vegas. I-I'm a friend of Grissom's. He's being operated on right now-"

The surgeon raised his hand, stopping Warrick mid-flow. "I know who you're talking about. We just finished on him."

Warrick let out a sigh. "And?" he asked expectantly.

"Are you his next of kin?" the surgeon retorted tonelessly.

Warrick shook his head. "No. No, I'm not. That would be…Sara." His face darkened. "She-she's currently lying in the ICU at Desert Palm Hospital in-"

"Vegas, I know." The doctor rubbed a weary hand to the back of his neck, hesitating. "I'm afraid I can't talk to you about Mr Grissom's condition, Mr Brown. Not if you're not family. His family's on the way?"

"I am family," Warrick insisted pleadingly. "I _am_ his family…not his blood but…he has no one…please? I-I just need to know he is okay."

The surgeon ran his gaze over Warrick's torn and dirtied clothes, taking in the CSI's obvious wounds and desperation, and slowly nodded his head in acquiescence. "All right," he said, "but let's go somewhere else." He briskly set off down the corridor, Warrick close behind, until he found an empty room. "I'm sorry," he said finally, "I'd take you to my office but it's being used."

Warrick nodded his head and followed the doctor into the small office, closing the door after him. "How is he doing, doctor?" he asked fearfully.

The surgeon propped himself up on the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest. "Fournier," he said. "Doctor Fournier. I'm an orthopod." He scratched a finger under his left eye and let out a breath. "The surgery went well," he began earnestly, "and so far he is responding to treatment." Warrick ran a shaky hand over his head in visible relief and blew out a big breath. "He suffered no internal bleeding, which is good news, but many broken bones. His-"

"Will he walk again?" Warrick cut in desperately.

The doctor sighed. "Well," he paused searching for the right words. "I'm afraid it's too early to tell…but that would be the _absolute_ worse case scenario anyway. The crush injury to his lower legs was dealt with at the crash site quickly and efficiently, which means that although the loss of blood was considerate we avoided major complications, and I was able to make a start on repairing the damage."

"How bad are his legs?"

"It's not as bad as it must have looked when they cut him out. The bones themselves weren't directly broken but there is substantial muscle and nerve damage around them."

"Nerve damage?"

The orthopaedic surgeon wiped the corners of his mouth, nodding his head in reply. "He'll need to undergo another op in a couple of days or so, but thanks to the swiftness of the rescue team, his legs _should_ eventually heal just fine." He paused for breath and Warrick let out another long, relieved breath. "No. What I'm...very concerned about at the moment is the lack of spontaneous reaction and sensations to his extremities. The paramedics who attended to Mr Grissom mentioned that when he briefly regained consciousness he complained of not being able to feel anything."

Warrick nodded. "But that could be because of the morphine, couldn't it?"

Doctor Fournier offered a warm smile at Warrick's obvious wishful thinking. "It's possible," he conceded somewhat reluctantly, "but we're more inclined to put it down to the direct injury he sustained to his spinal cord. The spine was severely compressed due to the violence of the crash itself but also because of the way his body was twisted in the trunk for such a long period of time. The X-ray showed no broken vertebrae though and there are no visible cuts to the cord itself-"

"That's good, right?"

"That's good."

"But?" Warrick prompted. "There is a 'but', isn't there?"

The doctor could only smile at Warrick's eagerness. "Maybe - maybe not. I'm inclined to believe that his spine was very badly bruised rather than anything worse. As soon as he's out of recovery, we'll take him down for a CT scan and see in more detail the extent of the damage. But for now, we've got him on a course of corticosteroids to reduce the swelling."

Warrick closed his eyes, taking a moment to take it all in. "What about his heart?" he then asked. "In the ambulance, he-he-" the words caught in his throat and he was unable to finish his sentence.

"We got all that stabilised for now, and we had no reoccurence during the surgery. His blood pressure is still on the low side, which is to be expected because of the strain the trauma has put on his heart. But we're monitoring it and giving him the appropriate medication."

"And the pneumothorax?"

"The PSP's also under control," the doctor replied patiently. "You'll have to speak to Dr Rodriguez for more details about that." He paused and reached a reassuring hand to Warrick's arm. "He's doing okay, Mr Brown, considering. Just give us – and him a little time."

Warrick nodded his head and forced a grateful smile. "Thank you. I appreciate what you've done – what you're doing for him, and you telling me. This is just so crazy…I-" Warrick fell silent and covered his face in his hands.

The doctor pushed himself off the desk and clasped Warrick on the shoulder. "I need to go and check he's settled in recovery now." He paused hesitating and noticing the CSI's obvious distress added, "The road to full recovery will be a long one but he's incredibly lucky, Mr Brown. Keep that in mind."

Warrick nodded his head at the doctor's words. "I will. Thank you."

Doctor Fournier patted the CSI on the shoulder one more time and without another word, left him to his anguish. How long he remained in the room replaying the crash scene in his head, thinking about what he could have done differently was anybody's guess but when he eventually snapped out of his stupor and stepped out into the corridor, there was only one place he was headed to.

Warrick gently pushed the door to Grissom's post-op recovery room open a crack, stopping at the threshold. Even though he had prepared himself for what he would undoubtedly see he let out an inaudible gasp, quickly averting his eyes to the floor. Taking a few calming breaths he forced his gaze back up to the bed, finding it easier to stare at the nurse quietly fussing around Grissom than at his friend himself. Strangely, she reminded him of Tina back in Vegas and he smiled wistfully, looking down at the scuffed wedding band on his ring finger.

He sighed and after a while, rasped his knuckles on the door. "How is he?" he asked in a whisper.

The nurse jumped slightly, turning. "Sir, I'm sorry," she said warmly. "You're not allowed here." There was no antagonism in her voice, just caution. "The risks of infection are very real."

Warrick forced a fraught smile, nodding. "I-I know. I'm sorry. I just needed to see him, just...to make sure."

The nurse smiled in understanding. "He's still out," she said moving toward the door. "He will be for quite a while longer. He's weak but stable."

"Why all the machines?" Warrick asked with confusion. "I thought the doctor said-"

The nurse had a moment's hesitation and then cast him a perfunctory smile. "It's standard procedure, Sir," she replied as she moved toward him and gently pushed him out of the room. "We're monitoring his condition very closely."

She seemed a little guarded, choosing her words carefully and despite suspecting he wasn't being told the whole truth about Grissom's status, he nodded his head and let himself be led away.

"As soon as we move him to ICU you'll be able to see him," she then said, running her gaze over Warrick's battered clothes, noticing his cuts and scrapes. "Were you involved in the same accident as him?"

Warrick gave a slow shake of his head in reply. "No. I just found him. He's my…friend," he added, his voice quivering at the word.

The nurse nodded compassionately. "Why don't you go and get yourself a cup of coffee down at the cafeteria? I promise to let you know as soon as I know something."

Warrick didn't reply, his eyes steadfast on the closed door.

"Sir?" she prompted.

The CSI refocused his attention on the nurse, grudgingly nodding his head at her suggestion.

* * *

Looking drawn and frantic with worry, Catherine hurriedly scanned her gaze around the hospital cafeteria, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally caught sight of Warrick. He was sitting in the corner of the room, on his own and looking forlorn and lost. Catherine quickly weaved her way through the crammed tables toward him, forcing a smile as she got nearer but despite the fact that he was looking straight toward her, he didn't seem to have seen her. A cup of coffee, that by the looks of it had gone cold a long time ago, sat untouched in front of him.

Her smile wavering, she put a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling him back to the present. He refocused his gaze, looking at her with confusion before unsteadily rising to his feet to pull her in a tight hug. "Oh, Catherine," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice breaking with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

Catherine took a moment to squeeze him back before replying, "Did you think I was going to stay away?" Tears she had managed to keep at bay up to now filled her eyes and she held on to Warrick a little while longer, rubbing gentle circles over his back. The anguish in his voice when he had called her had chilled her to the bone. "Of course I came," she whispered in his ear, "I'm always here for you. You know that."

He nodded his head and pushed her away from him, quickly drying his eyes. Clearing his throat he said, "I thought you were Grissom's nurse. She said she'd let me know when he's out of recovery and settled in the ICU."

Catherine smiled and ran her hand up and down his arm in a soothing motion. "I know. I spoke to her. She told me I'd find you here." She slung her purse and a black sports bag over the back of a chair across from his before glancing toward the food and drinks counter. "Shall I get you another coffee? Some food?"

Warrick sat back down. "I'm all right."

Catherine took out some money out of her purse. "You sure?" To his small nod, she added, "I'll just be a minute."

Catherine was setting her cup of black coffee down on the table when Warrick looked up with confusion. "How-how did you get here so quickly anyway?" he said. "Have I lost twenty-four hours without noticing?"

"No," Catherine answered with a smile as she sat down, "you didn't. I just…commandeered my dear old father's private jet." She lifted a shoulder as though her answer was no big deal. "When I explained to him what had happened and of course he'd already heard about Sara he didn't hesitate."

"Being Sam Braun's daughter has its perks, huh?"

Although there was no malice in Warrick's comment, Catherine's smile became a little uneasy. "Something like that, yeah," she replied bringing her coffee to her lips.

Warrick nodded, his expression once again clouding over.

"None of this is your fault, you know," she said quietly, putting her cup down and reaching out a comforting hand to his. "You did what you could. We all did what we could."

"I know," he replied as quietly. "I know, but it doesn't make it any easier."

Catherine let out a breath, nodding. "I brought you the spare clothes you keep in your locker at CSI and the few toiletries I found there." She waited for a reaction and when none came she added, "Why don't you go clean yourself up a bit while I wait here for the nurse? I think we're in for a long wait. Grissom was still in recovery when I went up looking for you."

He shook his head briskly. "I can't. I told her I'd stay here. I-"

Catherine squeezed his hand affectionately, her fingers curling tightly around his. "He's going to be okay, Warrick." She smiled but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "He's going to be fine. You got to keep telling yourself that."

Warrick closed his eyes, averting them to his coffee, hiding his pain and scepticism. "I'm not so sure, Catherine," he mumbled after a moment.

"I spoke to the nurse too," she said, keeping her tone light despite her own fears. "You heard what she said, he's stable."

Warrick shook his head. "I don't know. I think we're not being told everything."

"How do you mean?"

Warrick must have noticed the sudden change in her because he looked up, trying a small, lob-sided smile. "Don't mind me," he said. "I'm just tired and all doom and gloom."

But Catherine was having none of that. "Huh, huh," she said. "You're not back-pedalling on me now. Talk to me, Warrick. I've got a right to know. I'm his friend too."

Sighing, Warrick removed his hand from Catherine's tight hold and rubbed his eyes with it. He took a breath and his voice barely audible above the normal hustle and bustle of the cafeteria said, "He crashed on the way over in the ambulance. The EMT's had to pull over and resuscitate him."

Catherine's hand flew to her mouth, sudden tears prickling the back of her eyes. "Oh, my God!" she gasped.

"His heart stopped beating Catherine," Warrick added emotionally, his voice full of disbelief, the words dying on his lips.

Catherine scrunched her eyes shut, her head shaking in anguish as she willed her tears to stay away.

"I'm sorry, Catherine," Warrick said earnestly. "I didn't want to tell you. I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," she said, forcing a shaky smile. She swallowed painfully. "It's okay. I'm okay. It's just…all happened so damn quickly, you know? One minute, we're all one big family and the next…poof, it's all gone up in smoke."

Warrick thought about her words for a moment. "Did you go visit Sara before you came?"

Catherine shook her head in reply. "Greg said…he said her mom was there and I just wanted to be here."

"Her mom?" he asked with surprise.

Catherine nodded. "It would appear that Grissom's not Sara's next of kin and he called her." She smiled sadly, shrugging a helpless shoulder at him, her tears finally spilling. "I'm sorry," she said, bringing a knuckle to the underside of her eyes and smiling through her tears. "I really told myself I wouldn't cry."

"You and me both. You know," he added quietly after a moment, lifting his ring finger at her, "when I told Griss about Tina and I getting married, he didn't look disappointed as I thought he would, you know considering how rushed it all was. He simply smiled and clasped me on the shoulder, congratulating me and telling me that he was proud of me and that I'd make a fine husband." Warrick's smile broadened at the memory. "A _fine_ husband," he mused dejectedly.

"He was right," Catherine said and despite her original misgivings and disappointment on first hearing Warrick had gotten married she truly meant her words.

Warrick nodded distractedly, the soft smile still on his lip, his gaze a million miles away. "He's always been like the father I never had, Catherine."

"I know," she said, reaching out a hand to his. "I know."

Warrick didn't acknowledge her words and just continued with his train of thoughts. "Afterwards, he looked at me. He looked at me straight in the eye and he said, 'Warrick, my son, the right woman will make you truly happy. Forget the rush you get beating the casinos or even riding coasters. None of it comes close. And I'm not talking about sex, either. Just the simple things. A smile, a look, the feel of her hand on your skin, the simple brush of her lips on yours, the simple way she speaks your name,' he'd smiled then," Warrick continued, "but there was a light in his eyes that I mistook for amusement. 'Treat her well, Warrick,' he'd then said, 'and above all else, love her.'" Warrick chuckled to himself at the memory. "You should have seen me, Catherine, I had to literally pick my jaw off the floor."

Catherine wiped a rogue tear from the corner of her eye. "He never gave me that kind of advice when I was married to Eddie."

"Maybe that's because _he_ hadn't found the right woman then. He had to have been talking about Sara, right?" Catherine shrugged. "I mean, I never saw it. I never did but it was right there staring us in the face."

Catherine laughed. "I can see them, lying in bed at night, having the last laugh at our expense. Some CSI's we make."

Warrick's face suddenly darkened, his smile gone. "Oh, Catherine, if he was to die-"

"It won't come to that, Warrick. You're just shaken. It's normal."

Warrick looked down, nodding his head sadly.

Catherine watched him for a moment and then gulped down the remainder of her coffee. "Come on," she said, rising to her feet and grabbing her purse. She passed him his change of clothes. "This...is doing us no good. No good at all. Let's not wait any longer. Let's go see him now."

As soon as they stepped off the elevator, Catherine knew something was very wrong. The nurses' desk was empty, the floor deserted, and the eerie calm permeating the place sent shivers down her spine. Warrick immediately took off in long strides down the corridor, Catherine's heeled boots noisely click-clacking behind him as she ran, both stopping abruptly outside Grissom's open door.

Catherine gasped and brought shaky hands to her mouth as she stared at the crowd of doctors and nurses gathered around the bed.

"What's happening?" Warrick asked apprehensively, taking a few hesitant steps in. "What's happening to him?"

A nurse turned toward the CSI's. "Please, Sir, you must stay outside. Give us room to do our jobs."

Numb with shock, Catherine nodded at the nurse and wrapped an arm around Warrick's shoulder, turning him round and leading him out of the door. Suddenly, the steady beeping of the machines intensified, and Catherine heard the harried call of a doctor saying, "he's in V-tach again."

"Again?" she heard Warrick gasp as he stopped and turned round in her arms, the look he cast her pure terror.

"Come on, Grissom," she murmured, her voice that of a stranger in her ears. "Fight this! You got to fight this."

"He's in VF," the doctor announced and Catherine closed her eyes, shaking her head gloomily. "Bring me the crash cart!"

Another nurse came and silently guided them out, closing the door in their faces. Warrick turned tear-filled, incredulous eyes toward Catherine, his face crumbling miserably and stared at her in the eye beseechingly. Silent tears streaming down her face, she could only shake her head helplessly and envelop him in a tight hug as he broke down into sobs in her arms. Sobs soon made way to stupor, and stupor to restless pacing of the floor.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened. "We got him back," the doctor said without preamble, headed straight toward them.

"What's wrong with him?" Catherine asked.

"Mr Grissom has had a couple of post-op tachycardic episodes. That's when the heart beats so fast that not enough blood is pumped round." The doctor paused, letting the information sink in. "In turn, the tachycardia caused this latest ventricular fibrillation. Because of the inadequate blood flow to his heart the ventricles – the lower chambers of the heart – weren't contracting properly, which in turn led to the cardiac arrest."

Catherine nodded her head numbly, the words not quite registering with her. "Will it have lasting damage?"

"It's too early to tell."

"But he's okay, now," Warrick said. "He's going to be okay, isn't he?"

The doctor brought a friendly hand to Warrick's shoulder. "He's not out of the woods, far from it and the next few hours are critical but we got him back quickly and stabilised. We've just got to hope he responds to the new medication we're giving him better and doesn't give up the fight."

"Grissom's a fighter, Doctor," Catherine said. "He will fight this. I know he will."

* * *

Tbc.


	42. Chapter 42

Joanne propped the tray she was carrying on her hip and swiped the ID pass she had borrowed, releasing the door. She pushed the door with her foot, steadied the tray and glancing toward the CCTV camera, made her way in. Keeping her head down, she purposefully walked past the nurses' station into Desert Palm's intensive care unit before rounding the corner, slowing down as she scanned her gaze up the corridor ahead. She felt the slight quickening of her heartbeat as she caught sight of the armed guard sitting sentry by Sara's door.

Her lips curling into a chilling smile of anticipation, she made her way to the guard and waited until he looked up from his magazine. "Hi," she said, her voice sweet and friendly, "I have a spare breakfast trey left – someone who didn't make it," she added as an aside, "and rather than let it go to waste, I thought you might like to have it."

The officer stood up, a wide smile suddenly lighting up his whole face. "That's real nice of you, Louise Fletcher," he said, reading the name on the tag. "You're new?"

She shook her head. "I'm usually down in palliative care," she replied, grinning broadly, rather liking her new name. "Today, I'm covering for a sick colleague on this floor."

"Yeah, well, you and me both. My partner called in sick too so I've been here twelve hours and counting, and right about now I could just about eat a horse."

"Well, you'll have to make do with hospital food I'm afraid," Joanne said coyly, handing him the trey. "Enjoy."

"Oh, I will," the officer said greedily as he took a quick peek under the plastic lid covering the food. "Thanks."

"Oh, I don't think so," Joanne thought to herself as she walked away, smirking at how easy it was to trick her way into Sara's room for a second time. "And this time, no reprieve."

Joanne headed for the nearest supply closet and took off the ancillary staff's uniform she was wearing over her own clothes. She removed the glasses and headdress, hurriedly pulled out the pins holding her hair up into a tight bun and shoved the lot to the bottom of a laundry bag. She got her lipstick out from her pocket and painted her lips a flamboyant Manhunt red, checking as she replaced the lipstick that she still had the matching nail varnish.

Sara would go out in style; she would make sure of that.

She checked the time on her watch, deciding to give it another few minutes before opening the door a crack and popping her head out. As she expected the guard had gone, most probably to throw up in the nearest toilets, if she was to believe the tell-tale vomit splattering on the floor.

She only had a few minutes. She smiled to herself; she only needed one.

Casting one last glance over her shoulder, she pushed the door open, slipping into Sara's room unnoticed and stopped to give her eyes a second to get accustomed to the new dimmer light. Her heart was racing with excitement and she willed it to calm, smiling as she watched the ventilator slowly push air into Sara's lungs.

"Hello, dearest Sara," she said in a barely audible whisper. "I've come to give you one final makeover."

She was half-way to the bed, reaching in her pocket for her latex gloves when movement in the corner of the room startled her. Stopping dead in her tracks, she snapped her head round toward the woman sitting there, her heart sinking in her chest.

"Oh," she said quietly, immediately hiding her true emotions with a fake friendly smile as she brought a shaky hand over her heart in mock-surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was here."

Smiling back, Laura got to her feet, slipped her reading glasses off and put them and the brochure she had been reading down on the chair. "You must be Catherine," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Laura. Laura Sidle."

Joanne couldn't conceal the look of giddy surprise that immediately crossed her face, her brow arching as a new plan formed in her mind. "Sara's mother," Joanne said, nodding her head enthusiastically in reply to Laura's assumption that she was indeed this Catherine, whoever she was. She leaned across and shook the proffered hand, her gaze flicking to the UNOS brochure Laura had been reading. Her smile widened even more as she read the title: _All you need to know about Organ Transplantation._

* * *

"Sir, he's coming to," the nurse said, popping her head out of Grissom's ICU room.

Pushing off the corridor wall, Warrick rushed inside the room. After the previous day's scare and the change of anti-arrhythmia drugs Grissom's condition had remained stable and late afternoon, he had finally been moved into the ICU.

"I'll only allow you five minutes," the nurse added sternly. "No more. He's still very weak and needs his rest, all right?"

His eyes already on Grissom and a wide smile on his face, Warrick nodded his head in reply.

"I left some water over there if he asks for it," she added. "Just a little at a time."

"Okay. Thank you," Warrick said as the nurse stepped out of the room. "Hey, sleepy head," he whispered cheerily despite the mist in his eyes at seeing Grissom's eyes open a crack.

Blinking hesitantly, Grissom turned his face toward the sound of the voice and lifted a weak hand. "Warrick?"

Warrick took Grissom's hand in his and held on to it tight. "Yeah, it's me, Griss. It's me."

"Where am I?"

"Didn't they tell you? You're in St Mary's hospital in Reno."

"Reno?" Grissom repeated in a gasp. "I remember…McKay…"

"It doesn't matter about all this now. What matters is that you're still here with us." Warrick took a breath. "You really sacred the hell out of me, man. You sacred the hell out of all of us!"

Grissom's small snort immediately turned into a spluttering cough.

Remembering what he'd been told by the nurse, Warrick picked up the glass of water she had left on the side and brought the straw to Grissom's lips. With Warrick's help, the older man took a weak sip before slumping back down onto his pillow.

"I'm not ready to go just yet," he managed to say at last.

"Good," Warrick said with evident relief. "I'm glad to hear it." He frowned on noticing tears running down the side of Grissom's face and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "What's the matter, Griss?" he asked with alarm. "You want me to call the nurse? You're in pain?"

Grissom shook his head weakly. "No. No pain. I don't feel a thing."

Warrick took in a sharp breath but kept his tone light. "Well, they've got you on some pretty strong stuff, you know?"

"Sara," Grissom whispered as fresh tears seeped out of his almost closed eyes, "she's gone, isn't she?"

"No, man," Warrick was quick to reassure. "No. Sara's still in Vegas. Her mom's with her."

Grissom's face looked pained. "Laura's with her?"

Warrick nodded. "That's right," he said softly. "She's keeping an eye on her for you." He paused. "Griss, that's enough talking for now. You need your rest. So, why don't you go back to sleep while I keep you company. Catherine will be back soon."

"I need to go to her, Warrick," Grissom said feebly. "You need to take me to her."

Warrick's brow was creased with confusion. "What, to Catherine?" he asked leaning his ear closer to his friend.

"No. Sara. I need to be with Sara."

Warrick's heart broke for Grissom. "I'm sorry man, but no can do. There's no way they're going to discharge you yet. Sara's okay, Griss. She's not going anywhere." Warrick closed his eyes regretting his words as soon as they'd left his lips.

Grissom's lips were wobbling and Warrick turned away to hide his pain. He brought a trembling hand to his face, quickly wiping his eyes, and catching sight of a chair nearby pulled it over. "Why didn't you tell us, huh?" he asked. There was no reproach in his tone, just regret that he hadn't been able to offer his friend more comfort.

Grissom understood straightaway what Warrick was referring to. "Warrick, I…" There was a long pause, Grissom's laboured breathing filling in the space between them. After a long while, Grissom managed a rasping whisper. "I'm not ready to let her go. To tell you is accepting the inevitable and just...can't do that." He closed his eyes, the hold he had on Warrick's fingers slipping.

There was a quiet knock at the door and expecting to see the nurse Warrick rose to his feet in readiness to leave.

Brass popped his head quietly, smiling as he caught sight of Warrick. "The nurse says he's come to?" he said in a hushed whisper, stepping fully into the room.

Warrick nodded and watched Brass head for the other side of the bed. "Hey, buddy," the police captain said with obvious pleasure as he gently patted the plaster cast on Grissom's right arm.

Grissom's eyes opened slowly and he burst into a spluttering snort. "What's happened to your face?" he said feebly.

Brass brought his hand to the splint on his nose. "You don't like it?" he quipped mildly. "You thought you'd be the only one with scars to prove how tough you are?" Grissom's smile was weak and Brass swallowed the tightness in his throat, his expression turning serious. "I-I let some dude with a shovel take a swing at me. What can I say? I'm not as quick as I used to be."

"I hope you got the guy."

Brass shared a look with Warrick. "Oh, yeah, we did. And he won't be getting a get-out-of-jail-free card, that's for sure."

Grissom nodded and opened his mouth to talk but no sound came out and taking a pained breath he once more let his eyes drift shut.

"Enough talking for today, Gil," Brass said, "or the nurse will have us out." He gently patted Grissom on the side. "You get your rest now. We'll have plenty of time to chat when you're sitting up."

Grissom gave a weak nod of the head in reply, already half-asleep.

Brass took a drawn-out breath and moved away from the bed. "Catherine knows?" he asked Warrick, nodding toward Grissom.

"Not yet. She was still across the road when I came round an hour ago. She certainly looked like she could do with the sleep so I left her." Brass nodded. "Any leads on McKay's whereabouts?"

The captain shook his head briskly. "Reno PD's got a unit watching the farm near Winnemucca in case she shows there but as time goes on it's looking more and more unlikely. I'm not even sure that's where they were headed to in the first place. It's nothing more than a shell." He ran a weary hand over his face. "No signs of her at her old address in Reno either."

"You caught any sleep?"

"A couple of hours back at PD."

"You can use my room at the hotel if you want," Warrick suggested.

Brass gave a distracted nod of the head. "We spent most of the night driving down the I-80 and 95, stopping at all the gas stations, diners and motels we could find to show Wallis's and McKay's mug shots."

"No luck, huh?"

Brass sighed and shrugged. "Well, yes and no. We know they stopped at a roadside diner forty miles south of the crash site. That's after Grissom made the call. From what the waitress that served them recalled they were loud and arguing. She couldn't tell what about but she said Wallis had a bit to drink and was vocal with McKay…rough even, she said."

"So between stopping at the diner and being pulled over by highway patrol, they split up."

Brass conceded the point with a nod. "Yep."

"Disagreement about what to do with Grissom maybe?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that yet again Ma Barker's running rings round us."

A jerky movement from the bed caught Brass's eye and he rushed to Grissom's side. Grissom's eyes were wide open, the terror and panic in them evident but he wasn't moving. He let out a low groan, his mouth suddenly twisting in pain.

"What's happening to him, Rick?" Brass asked with alarm.

Warrick pushed Brass out of the way, took a look at the cardiac monitor and reaching for the call button, replied, "It's his heart. It's beating too fast again." Without losing his cool, the CSI turned to his mentor and stooping low, caught and held his friend's eye. "Griss, just try to stay calm, okay? The nurse will be here soon."

Grissom tried to talk, his breathing coming thick and fast, and his body rigid with fear. Unable to understand him, Warrick could only stare at his friend helplessly as he waited for the tachycardia to pass. At that instant, the heart monitor's alarm sounded indicative of Grissom's worsening arrhythmia. The CSI looked round turning anxious eyes toward Brass, who taking his cue rushed out of the room.

"It's okay," Warrick told Grissom soothingly. "It's going to pass. It's just your heart getting ahead of itself again. You don't worry about a thing. Just concentrate on taking slow breaths." He looked into Grissom's eyes and thought he could see the fight leave him. He panicked. "Grissom, no! Come on, Griss, don't do this to me. Stay with me, man; you can fight this."

* * *

"I'm glad you came, Catherine," Laura said warmly. "Except for Mr Grissom, I think I have met most of you night owls by now."

Joanne frowned with confusion and then smiled when she finally realised who _Catherine_ was. "That's right," she replied agreeably. "I think you _have_ met everyone." Her face turned serious as she improvised her character. "I'm sorry to be meeting you under such tragic circumstances."

Laura nodded, her face mirroring Joanne's solemn expression as she watched Sara.

"Sara's accident has completely devastated…_Grissom_ and turned his world upside down," Joanne said, glancing at her watch impatiently. "The last time I saw him he was a shadow of his former self, overwrought and giving up the fight."

Joanne's words gave Laura pause. "I can imagine he would be," she replied in a sigh. "The poor man's been through a terrible ordeal; Sara's attack first and then dealing with _this_," she said opening her hand toward the life support machine. Joanne's ears pricked up with interest. "From what I understand he loves her very much."

Joanne smirked but Laura didn't notice. "I have no doubt," she said her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Have you got any news?" Laura asked hopefully, snapping her head round abruptly. "I'm sorry I should have asked sooner. How is he recovering?"

Joanne did a double take at Laura's question, her senses on high alert. So, Grissom _had_ made it out of the crash alive, she thought musingly. But where had they taken him? Shrugging a sad shoulder, she carefully constructed her answer. "Last I heard, he was weak but stable," she said finally settling for the standard phrase.

Laura blew a sigh of relief and reached out a hand to Joanne's arm. "Oh, good, I'm glad. Oh, that's such good news. You must all be so relieved."

Joanne forced a smile. "We are. We are; it's been a tough couple of days." As an afterthought, she clumsily patted Laura's hand on her arm.

Laura refocused her gaze on Sara and smiled at her daughter. "Since everything's on hold here, I've decided go up to Reno to visit him. There's a Greyhound bus stopping in Reno at one this afternoon, which I'm going to be on."

Joanne's smile was wicked. "Oh, he will like that. He will like that very much. Have you two met before?"

Joanne's question hit a raw nerve. "No," Laura replied curtly.

"I'm sorry," Joanne said quickly, noticing the change in Laura. "I didn't mean to intrude." She paused, nodding toward the brochure on the chair. "Are you…considering organ donation?"

Laura's gaze followed Joanne's and she nodded her reply. "That's what Sara wants. I'm very proud of my daughter you know, Catherine, and of all the things she achieved and of beating the odds, the way she did. Despite everything that's happened in her life she made good of it – for herself and for others – even in death."

Joanne felt sick to her stomach at what she was hearing. "You and her weren't close?"

"We were once," Laura answered distractedly but it was obvious that her mind was on something else. "May I ask you something?" she then asked hesitantly, looking Joanne in the eye. Joanne's gaze flicked to the bed and she gave a wary nod of the head in reply. "What's happened to your face?"

Joanne was caught off-guard, her hand immediately shooting to the bruise on her cheekbone, which she thought she'd done a better job of concealing. Paying for the ride to Vegas in kind, she had expected and kind of enjoyed actually. But when the bastard had tried to steal her ring from her, she'd snapped. Her hand slid down to the collar of her turtleneck sweater and she closed her eyes, still able to feel the creep's hands around her throat.

"I'm sorry," Laura said quickly. "I should learn to mind my own business. I just…" she shook her head sadly, "…see it happen so much you know in my line of work. I work at a woman's refuge in Reno."

Joanne forced a smile. "Oh, no. No, it was nothing like that," she lied quickly. "It happened during an arrest, last night." Laura visibly paled at the words, her eyes darkening and narrowing with pain, and misinterpreting the older woman's reaction, Joanne added quickly, "Don't worry. You should have seen the other guy. He came off a lot worse."

Laura swallowed her uneasiness. "Did…huh…Sara ever get attacked? I mean…before?"

Joanne's inner smile was wide and gleeful as she remembered Adam's attack on Sara the previous year. On the outside however she was a picture of sadness. "Yes," she told Laura. "It comes with the job I'm afraid."

Laura fell in a wistful silence and Joanne chanced a closer look at Sara. She was reaching a hand toward the younger woman's face when Laura said, "That's a nice ring youve got there, Catherine."

Joanne's hand jerked back in fright. She caught herself and smiled. "It was a gift from a very dear friend," she said, looking fittingly saddened and holding out her hand to Laura. "Sadly, he's passed away now and this is all I have left of him."

Laura studied the ring a little more closely. "It's late eighteenth's century, isn't it?"

Joanne's brow rose with interest and she slipped the ring off, handing it to Laura with pride.

"My grandmother had one in the same style," the older woman continued. "I believe this particular pink tourmaline is mined near San Diego."

"So it's valuable?"

Laura shrugged. "I wouldn't know anything about that." She brought the ring up to eye level. "It's nice," she remarked with a smile, "he had it engraved for you."

Joanne grabbed the ring back, yearning to take a look at the inscription herself but unwilling to give the game away, silently slipped it back on her ring finger before glancing at her watch.

"Would you like some time alone with Sara?" the older woman asked, evidently guessing at Joanne's imminent departure. "I need to go to the bathroom anyway."

"Thank you," Joanne replied with genuine gratitude, relishing the prospect of a few minutes on her own with Sara, her hand already reaching for her trademark Manhunt red. "Take as long as you need."

* * *

Tbc.


	43. Chapter 43

A/N: Apologies over the delay. Finding the inspiration to get this chapter done has been hard, and I'm still not sure how well it reads but it's taking us to where we need to be. There will be one more update before I go home to France for a few weeks. So possibly no updates for a while after that until I return, unless I can find myself a laptop which at this moment in time looks unlikely…

* * *

"You're okay, Mr Grissom," the nurse soothed reassuringly. "I know it's scary but listen," she added with a bright smile, her gaze locked onto his, "your heartbeat's slowing down all on its own."

The fear had left Grissom's eyes and he nodded into the oxygen mask in understanding.

"No fibrillations?" Warrick asked earnestly as he craned his neck from the end of the bed.

The nurse smiled, shaking her head and Warrick and Brass both blew out a long breath of relief. "Just…another episode of tachycardia."

"I thought the meds were keeping that under control," Warrick said unable to keep his frustrations out of his voice.

"They are, but something must have triggered this latest episode," she said pointedly while she continued to tend to Grissom.

Warrick looked at Grissom whose eyes were already closed, his breathing still rapid and shallow but nothing like what it was a moment ago, and nodded his head at the nurse.

"I think you two gentlemen have outstayed your welcome," she then said. "It's time to say your goodbyes. My Grissom needs his rest."

"Gil," Brass said when he saw Warrick hesitate, "we're going to go now but we'll be back to see you later. You just…" he gently patted the side of the bed, letting the rest of his sentence trail with a sad shake of the head, and turned toward the door.

"Jim?" Grissom called in a low voice, lifting the breathing mask off his face. "Please, look after Sara for me."

Brass turned and shared a confused look with Warrick. "Sara?"

"McKay," Grissom rasped. "She-she…" He looked like he was struggling again and the nurse put a stop to his speaking.

"You get your rest, Gil," Brass said reassuringly. "And don't worry about Sara. She's safe. You know that. I've got a man outside her door, 24/7."

"No, Jim," Grissom gasped. He took a fraught breath and then another one before saying, "McKay's in Vegas. She's gone back to finish the job. I know she has. She told me…She'll find a way…" Grissom's heartbeat was once again quickening worryingly.

"Sir," the nurse cut in sternly directing her words toward Brass and Warrick, "You need to leave _now_. You're making his condition worse. He needs to rest and avoid stress. Please."

"Jim…"

Brass looked at Grissom and pinched his lips as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I'll make my way back to Sara straightaway," he said finally. "If it makes you feel better I'll watch over her myself. Now you concentrate on getting better so you can get back to her. I doubt I'm the one she'll want by her side anyway."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it, buddy. Don't mention it." Brass tried to blink away the moisture in his eyes. "What are friends for, hey?"

"You rest," Warrick echoed quietly. "I'll be back later."

* * *

Laura stepped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her, headed to the bathroom. "Is everything all right?" she asked the officer guarding the door, a frown creasing her brow as she noticed an orderly mopping up vomit off the floor.

Officer Pritchard who was sitting forward on his chair, his head hanging low between his legs, his face in a sick bowl, shook his head glumly. "I think some nurse tried to poison me," he said.

"A nurse?" Laura repeated with disbelief. Remembering what she'd been told about the first safety breach, Laura scanned a fearful gaze up and down the corridor. "What-when – just now?" she asked with growing panic. To which, the officer gave a slow nod of the head. "Have you reported it?"

Pritchard's nodding intensified. "I've given security her name and description and they're looking at the CCTV on this floor," he said, speaking slowly and keeping his mouth over the bowl. "They've shut down the hospital and back up's on the way. But since you were here…in the room with Sara, I knew she was fine."

"She is," Laura reassured. "Catherine's with her."

Pritchard looked up, his face contorting in pain as another stomach cramp twisted his side. "Catherine Willows?" he panted through it.

"I-I assume that's her name. Her colleague from CSI?"

"That's right – good."

The officer suddenly sprung to his feet, heaving as though he was going to be sick again. "Go, go," Laura said. "I'll stay here until you return."

Just as Pritchard rushed to the nearest bathroom, the door to Sara's room opened and Joanne came out, looking a little flustered. "What was that?" she asked, faking panic. The orderly looked up and Joanne turned her face away. "Did I hear there's been a second breach?"

"Officer Pritchard thinks a nurse tried to poison him," Laura replied anxiously and with evident disbelief. "He's alerted security and the hospital's been shut down."

Joanne pondered Laura's words for a moment. "Good," she said at last. "They've got CCTV around the place. She won't be able to get away."

Looking more and more frantic, Laura nodded. "Sara's okay?"

Joanne smirked, her gaze flitting toward the emergency door at the end of the corridor. "Sure. No change. Listen, I'm going to go now. Get an update with Captain Brass. You stay here with Sara."

"Why is that woman doing this?" Laura exclaimed in desperation as tears rose. "Isn't what she's already done enough?"

Joanne was casting anxious glances up and down the corridor, watching warily as a nurse rounded the corner toward them. "You must let no one in the room," she told Laura, touching her on the shoulder, causing the older woman to start. "No one at all, under any circumstances, do you understand?"

Laura nodded. "I know, I know."

Movement at the bottom of the corridor distracted Laura and Joanne took advantage to disappear toward the emergency stairs.

* * *

"Warrick!" Catherine called as soon as she stepped out of the elevator.

The CSI's head snapped round, his face lighting up with a smile on seeing her, and he put down the leaflet he was flicking through.

Hiding her true turmoil, Catherine returned his happy smile and made her way over. "You should have woken me," she said as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "How is he?"

"Still the same," Warrick replied.

Catherine nodded with a sigh. "You've seen Brass? I've been trying to get a hold of him but-"

"He's here. He's gone to wash his face."

Catherine frowned at Warrick's words and then realisation dawned. "Oh." She was about to fill the ensuing awkward silence with some news from Vegas when Brass joined their side. She smiled and reached over to hug the detective in greeting and noticing the slight shine in his eyes kissed him on the cheek. "You heard the news?" she asked him as they broke off. Brass's frown told her all she needed to know and glancing toward Warrick, she added, "I got a wake-up call from Nick. North Vegas PD found a DB late last night – one Stephen McAllister from Bakersfield, California."

"And?" Brass prompted, looking a little confused as to why this was worthy of a mention.

"He took a bullet in the head. Close range, in the cab of his truck. Scene like a Tarantino movie or so I'm told. Anyway," Catherine's face lit up, "they called Vartann when they got a hit on some prints they recovered from the door handle…"

Brass's expression brightened too as the pieces slowly slotted together. "Let me guess, they came back to McKay?"

"Bingo."

Brass turned toward Warrick. "So Gil was right. She _is_ back in Vegas."

"So it would seem," said Catherine.

"And she's not worried about adding more charges to her already long rap sheet," Warrick remarked.

"Assuming she did it," Catherine retorted.

"Oh, she did it all right," Brass said, lifting a shoulder in reply to Warrick's comment. "One life sentence or two, what difference does it make to her now?" He paused. "Okay. Well, I promised Gil I was headed back to Vegas anyway so I'm just going to have to find myself a ride there."

"I thought you might say that," Catherine said. "I've already put a call through to Reno airport for you. Sam's jet's ready and waiting to take you back."

Brass let out a loud incredulous chortle. "Good old Sam." He shook his head at the irony of the situation but did not decline the offer.

"I'd go back with you," Warrick told him, "but I'm going to hang around here until Grissom's better and is transferred back to Vegas."

"Sure," Brass said before turning an enquiring brow to Catherine.

"I'm going to stay too. Nick's got shift covered and Ecklie's got Beth from days to help out on the most pressing cases but backlog's piling up so I said I'd be back for tomorrow's shift."

Brass nodded and went to press the call button for the elevator.

"Have a nice flight," Catherine bid cheekily. "Oh, and try not to enjoy yourself too much!" she called back, already headed toward intensive care.

"They won't let you in," Warrick called after her. "The nurse just kicked us out."

Catherine threw Warrick a small wink. "When have I ever let a small detail like that stop me in the past, hey?"

Ignoring the nurse's hard stare as she popped her head inside Grissom's room, Catherine tiptoed her way up to the bed and smiled fondly on finding her friend fast asleep. Her smile soon morphed into a thin pinched line, tears suddenly filling her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. Life wasn't fair, she thought and it wasn't fair that her dearest friend's life should now lay in shatters because of one demented woman's act of retribution.

"I'm going to be here with you every step of the way," she told him quietly through her tears. "All of us are. We'll make sure there's light at the end of your tunnel."

"He really needs to rest," the nurse said in a hushed whisper.

Catherine wiped her eyes and smiled, nodding. "I won't stay long. I-I just needed to see him." She pinched her lips, released a small breath and leaned over Grissom. She pressed her lips to his forehead, whispering, "I've a lot of questions that need answers, Gil, and only you can provide them. You get better soon and come back to us." She kissed him again and closed her eyes, releasing more tears.

"Catherine," Grissom said in a murmur, weakly lifting his left hand up in the air.

"Sshh," she said in his ear, "don't talk. You need your beauty sleep. I'll be back to see you later."

Grissom's hand dropped to the bed, his face relaxing into a small smile as he once again drifted off.

"You take good care of him," Catherine told the nurse as she left. "He's very much loved, and sorely missed."

* * *

It was late afternoon and Grissom was awake and alert, propped up against a pillow, his gaze steadfast on the blank television screen. Warrick had been and gone, and he smiled to himself as he recalled the look of sheer relief on his friend's face on entering the room. The younger man's visit had been brief though, too brief and Grissom couldn't help wondering why that was. He had looked quiet, distracted, almost subdued and Grissom feared that he was being deliberately kept in the dark, no doubt lest bad news put undue stress on his heart.

And where was Catherine? he wondered with a shake of the head. Something had to have happened.

Knowing it had to do with Sara and her mother's arrival in Vegas, he felt a stab of pain. He blinked and looked toward the curtain splitting the room in two, wondering at the woman on the other side, the one who had kicked up such a fuss on having to be admitted. Her stubbornness, her forthrightness, the lilt of her voice as she argued and then finally the quiet resignation when she realised she had no choice in the matter, had reminded him of Sara and he'd felt yet another pang of sadness, a flutter of his heart, palpitations that he was beginning to grow accustomed to – a life-long reminder of the finality of life – his life and Sara's but of their life together too.

The small clearing of a throat jarred him out of his melancholy and he looked up toward Dr Rodriguez who stood there with a large envelope in his hand looking tired but nevertheless smiling warmly. The cardiologist pulled the curtain shut, stepping fully into Grissom's domain. "Don't look so disappointed to see me," he said by way of greeting.

"I was hoping you were someone else," Grissom replied a little glumly.

The cardiologist's smile broadened and he picked up the chart at the end of the bed, ready to get down to business. "I know I said I'd be round much sooner with the tests results but I'm afraid you got bumped lower down my list of priorities," he explained, jerking his head toward next door.

"That's good to know."

"It's actually a good thing, Mr Grissom."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound callous or ungrateful, it's just that I'm not feeling myself."

"It's the anti-arrhythmia drugs," Dr Rodriguez replied. "They have a nasty habits of depressing all my patients – literally and figuratively."

The joke fell on deaf ears. "What's wrong with her?" Grissom asked with a nod toward the curtain.

The cardiologist shrugged sadly. "She's a habitual patient here. I had no choice but to readmit her and as you probably heard, against her explicit wishes." His expression darkened with sadness but he soon shook his head briskly, brightening up as he refocused on Grissom. "Couldn't be avoided, I'm afraid."

Grissom nodded solemnly. "The curtains are thin."

"Not so good if you like privacy. And sadly private rooms around here come at a premium. Anyway, how did the move to cardiology go?" he asked cheerily.

"Here or there doesn't make much of a difference to me," Grissom replied gloomily. "The outlook's the same."

"Indeed." The doctor moved to Grissom's side and sat down on a corner from the bed away from Grissom's heavily bandaged legs. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Aren't _you_ the one supposed to tell me that?" A small smile twitched at the doctor's lips. "Like I've been put through a wringer," Grissom admitted reluctantly.

"Excellent." Grissom pursed his face at the doctor but the latter took no notice and continued with his questioning. "No discomfort around the heart itself after the procedure?"

Grissom gave a slow shake of the head. "No."

"That's good to hear." Pulling out a large X-ray image from the envelope he was holding and lifting it up to Grissom's eye line he said, "You'll be pleased to know that both the echocardiography and the radionucleide stress testing showed no significant coronary artery disease and the blood tests came back negative for thyroid problem."

Grissom nodded. "That's good to know," he said dryly. "So, what's causing the arrhythmia?"

Dr Rodriguez lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Well, since you have no history of heart trouble, I suspect the trauma which originally caused the first episode of tachycardia and subsequent ventricular fibrillations in turn caused some scarring of the ventricles."

This gave Grissom pause. "Okay. So…what can you do about that? Can you repair it?"

The doctor smiled at Grissom's forthrightness. "We can try."

"How soon?"

"I thought you might ask that so I've taken the liberty to book you in for a minimally-invasive procedure, called electrophysiology testing – EP testing for short. It takes about an hour. You'll be awake throughout and we'll tread catheters with electrodes at the tip through your blood vessels to several areas within the heart. We'll then map out the spread of electrical impulses through your heart and stimulate it to beat at different rates."

Grissom nodded his understanding. "So you can establish at what heart rates the tachycardia's likely to occur."

"Exactly. And also pinpoint which areas of the ventricles aren't performing as they should."

"How soon can you do that?"

"Well, I'm going to have to confer with Dr Fournier but as I understand it, the latest CT scan he's had done showed no major damage to your spine?" Grissom nodded his head in concurrence. "So provided that the swelling has subsided enough I'd like to do it first thing tomorrow morning."

"As early as that?"

The doctor nodded his head earnestly. "Tachycardia, especially your type, if left untreated is a life-threatening condition so the longer we leave it the more chances-"

"I have of dying," Grissom finished impassively.

"Yes. And if needed _and _possible I'd like to attempt a catheter ablation to repair the damage."

Grissom let out a long breath. "At the same time?"

The cardiologist nodded. "It's no riskier and in the long run it'll save time but I won't know if it's possible until I carry out the procedure."

"What does it entail?"

"We would simply cauterize the damaged...the scarred area in the ventricle."

Grissom looked away as he pondered the doctor's words. "And you favour that over implanting an ICD?"

"Well, you tell me," Dr Rodriguez said with a smile. "You seem to already know all about it." Grissom shrugged and the doctor added, "That's my next treatment of choice."

"So I'm not going to die anytime soon."

The doctor gave a loud chuckle. "Not if I can help it."

Grissom nodded and let out a long breath. "Okay," he said at last. "Do what you need to do."

The doctor slipped the X-ray back in the envelope and got up from the bed. "I shall. Thank _you_," he replied his voice laced with sarcasm, causing a small smile to escape Grissom's guard.

"What about the surgery to my legs?" Grissom asked as Dr Rodriguez made to leave.

"Dr Fournier will discuss it with you but it's going to have to be postponed until afterwards."

Grissom lifted his left hand up and rubbed it wearily over his eyes while he took in the doctor's words.

Dr Rodriguez watched his patient for a moment and then said, "You seem very resigned to it all."

"What choice do I have?"

"I know it's daunting, Mr Grissom but you're on the mend." The cardiologist hesitated with his next words. "I-I spoke with your friend earlier about your accident and it seems to me that a guardian angel was watching over you."

Grissom smiled wistfully. "She always does."

"Listen, I know you'd rather be anywhere but here but you're going to have to be a little patient. All of your injuries are treatable and once we have the tachycardia under control you can be on your way."

Grissom's head shot up toward the doctor. "You'll discharge me?"

"Not quite," the doctor said in a chuckle at Grissom's eagerness to leave, "but I can maybe grant your next best wish."

Grissom's face lit up for the first time. "You'll transfer me to Desert Palms?"

Dr Rodriguez patted Grissom's shoulder gently, ready to leave. "We'll see how tomorrow goes and the decision's not all mine but if Dr Fournier has no objections, I don't see why not."

A head popped in around the curtain opening. "Oh, I'm sorry," a female voice said. "Is this a bad time?"

"No," the doctor replied with a smile. "In fact I'd say it was a perfect time." He turned back toward Grissom whose eyes were fixed on the woman standing there, partially hidden by the curtain, and watched the life suddenly drained out of his patient.

"Laura," Grissom said in a gasp, wiping at the tears in his eyes.

Laura's lips twitched into a small smile and she nodded. "Mr Grissom, I-I…"

"Gil," Grissom said, fresh tears rising despite his smile. He closed his eyes, pinching his lips and swallowed the grief that suddenly flooded him, and the sudden quickening of his heartbeat feeling dangerously real. He slowly reopened his eyes and nodded his head in acceptance of his fate. "She's already gone, isn't she?"

* * *

Tbc.


	44. Chapter 44

A/N: A possible hanky warning for this chapter. Maybe.

Thanks for reading, those of you who still are; as you know by now, I appreciate the support. More as soon as I can…and even maybe before I leave…I seem to have found a third wind from somewhere.

I hope you like this chapter. I got very emotional writing it.

* * *

Grissom slowly reopened his eyes and nodded his head in acceptance of his fate. "She's already gone, isn't she?"

Laura's face fell as she heard Grissom's resigned tone and read the devastating grief on his face. "No," she was quick to reassure, smiling again as she stepped fully into the room. "No, she's not gone. Not yet. I put everything on hold until you get better and can travel back to Vegas."

Grissom blew out a long breath and smiled, nodding his head at the news, letting overwhelming relief wash over him. He took a few fraught breaths, blinking uncertainly while he tried to calm his heart. His blue watery eyes rested on Laura's face, her smile so much like Sara's that he felt a fresh pang of sadness twist his core.

Clutching her purse in front of her as though a life line and clearly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Laura's gaze shot down to her hands self-consciously.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly on noticing her discomfort, "I didn't mean to embarrass you but for a moment it was like staring at Sara in the future."

Laura's head snapped up, a surprised smile lighting her face. Immediately, his words seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders and she visibly relaxed. She looked around the room a little tentatively, taking in all the equipment surrounding him, before taking a few hesitant steps nearer the bed. She looked down, briefly meeting his eyes before flicking her gaze to the rest of his battered body. "I'm sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances," she said, "I came as soon as I could."

Grissom remained silent, staring, as he struggled to cope with the influx of conflicting emotions Sara's mother's presence unleashed and watched as she suddenly startled as though remembering something of importance. She placed her purse on the bed by Grissom's feet, rummaging inside. Her hands shaking, she removed what looked like a piece of paper from it and looked at it intently for a moment before turning to show it to Grissom.

Immediately he gasped. "I didn't even realise I'd lost it," he murmured, eyes wide with sorrow. He lifted his left hand toward the picture, trembling fingers almost hesitant to touch it as he wondered where and how he'd so easily misplaced it. Tears shimmering in his eyes he looked up with questions in his eyes.

"I thought this way Sara could be part of _this_, you know?" she explained in a small voice. "Be with us while we talk?"

Grissom felt an unexplainable and overwhelming surge of love for this woman he'd only just met and smiling, he nodded his head sadly. She gently placed the picture in his good hand and he stared at Sara's face until she blurred with his tears.

"She's so beautiful," Laura said, moving to the head of the bed so she could look at Sara too.

"It was all such a lifetime ago," he said pinching his lips in anxiety.

"San Francisco?"

Grissom nodded his head distractedly, his mind taking him back to happier days. He smiled and wiped at his tears. "I was lecturing there and Sara was one of my… _students,_ I guess you could say, although she was almost twenty-six when we met." He brushed his thumb lovingly over the picture and looked up at Laura, smiling wistfully, surprising himself at how easily he was opening up. "Where did you get this?"

"Nick brought it in to the hospital to give Sara so she wouldn't be alone," Laura replied.

Grissom swallowed and closed his eyes as he remembered his actions with Jimmy Wallis and the fact that Nick must have found the picture there when he'd processed the house. He shook his head feeling ashamed at what he had done and at the fact that he'd never once wondered what had happened to the poor kid afterwards.

"He was-" Laura continued unaware of Grissom's inner struggle as she gave a small chuckle, "_they're_ all very protective of her – of the two of you – aren't they?" Grissom didn't reply. "And very fond of her too. Greg was so genuine, you know, so very open with his emotions, so very loving…" she stopped, interrupted by the sudden tightness in her throat.

"They're her family," Grissom stated simply. "Our family." He cast Laura a sideways glance and noticed immediately that her expression had clouded, the sudden shine in her eyes causing Grissom to regret his words. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Laura startled and met his gaze. "You didn't," she said warmly. "You didn't. How can I be upset when Sara had so much love in her life? I'm glad she had you and all her friends, a new family. I'm glad she knew how to love and be loved. You provided her with the love and support I wasn't able to give her for so many long years and I'm thankful for that." She seemed to hesitate for a moment as though searching for the right words before saying, but not unkindly, "You say you're a family and yet before the attack no one knew about the two of you."

Grissom averted his eyes conceding the point with a sad nod of his head. "It's one my biggest regrets," he said desolately as he stared at Sara, "that we could never share our happiness with our friends but too much was at stake." He looked up, holding Laura's gaze. "Work wouldn't have allowed for us to have a relationship and keep working together and we both love our jobs and what we have together too much to want to jeopardize either."

"It's okay," Laura said, covering his hand with hers. "You don't have to justify yourself; I wasn't judging you, far from it."

Grissom nodded and returned his gaze to the picture."I didn't know you'd tried to make contact with Sara until I found your address and phone number in a shoebox she keeps at the back of her closet. Shenever told me about the box. She doesn't readily speak of her past much but…"

"Has she…did she ever…" Laura swallowed painfully, her gaze averting to her lap. "Did she ever speak about _me_?"

Unwilling to dredge up painful memories, Grissom thought carefully about his answer. "Not in any detail," he eventually said making eye contact again.

"But you know," she stated quietly.

Grissom startled at the emotion he suddenly glimpsed in Laura's gaze before she shamefully hid it. He had seen it once before – the deep shame and regret that had manifested so vividly, so heartbreakingly that fateful afternoon in Sara's apartment, and then he knew. He understood why Laura had come, why she was here.

"About what you did?" he replied at last. "Yes. She told me."

"And you're not judging?"

Grissom shrugged. "It's not my place to judge. I don't know enough about you or your life to form an opinion but I know how it hurt Sara, how it still does and how it impacted on her life, on who she became, who she is now."

Laura nodded her head, taking a moment to ponder his words. "Please, would you tell me about her?" she then whispered, meeting his gaze imploringly. "Would you tell me about her now?"

Taken aback by Laura's question, Grissom looked down to the picture in his hand. "Tell you about Sara?" he repeated uncertainly, his voice suddenly swollen and unfamiliar. He let out a small breath, willing the tremor of his hand to stop. "I don't know if I can. I don't know if I have the words."

"Please," she pleaded in a whisper. "I need to know."

"Sara…" Her name came out in a gasp and he cleared his throat at the sudden dryness in his mouth, remaining silent for long seconds while he found the words. His eyes filled and he kept them steadfast on Sara's happy smile as he talked, the words coming as naturally to him as the heart beating in his chest. "Sara's the most beautiful person I ever set eyes on," he murmured. "And I'm not talking about her physical beauty. I've loved her from the very first moment I saw her across the crowded lecture room. I was mesmerised by the myriad of expressions reflected on her face, in her eyes as I spoke and delivered the most boring talk..." he suddenly lapsed into silence, smiling to himself, caught up as he was in his own recollections of their meeting.

"Of course, I didn't do anything about it; Sara did," he went on after a while, as though he'd never paused. "She always was the more…forthright of the two of us."

Laura gave a small chuckle. "Headstrong, I think is the word you were looking for."

Grissom's curl of the lips was small and loving. "Oh, yes, that she is. Obstinate and tenacious, determined, she likes to call it." His expression shifted turning solemn. "Without that…doggedness, that survival instinct that is so much a part of her, she'd never have achieved half the things she achieved in her life – personally and professionally – and we'd certainly never have gotten together."

Laura's smile was wistful. "No?"

His shake of the head was slow. "No. And not through lack of wanting to or loving her on my part, you have got to know that but…" he lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug, "…I guess, having her near was enough for me – for a very long time. For too long. In a lot of ways and especially with matters of the heart, she knows me better than I know myself." He smiled through his tears, unaware that he was crying, his thumb gently stroking over Sara's face on the picture as though he was talking to her. "She can read the contours of my mind, of my heart without needing a map," he continued softly, suddenly filled with such yearning that he ached. "She finishes my sentences and understands my silences…"

Once he had started, he could not stop. He spoke of the things he loves about Sara – the ordinary things, like the wide, warm and loving smile, the spot where the tip of her index finger is hard and callused that he likes to brush his thumb against when he holds her hand. He spoke of how she looks when she pores over some tricky piece of evidence or crafts an elaborate meal in their kitchen, her hair falling around her ears and an expression of absolute concentration on her face; of her laughing and playing with Hank in the backyard, endlessly teaching him to sit, lie, beg; of her fingers suddenly on his shoulder, at a moment when he is pensive, his mind on a case when he should have been listening to something she was saying. _You okay?_ she'd ask with a smile. _Do you want to talk it over?_ Or simply, _I love you._

He spoke of the way her eyes curl up on the edges when she smiles or down when she is sad, the way they twinkle and smile at him when she is being mischievous, of the brown chocolate in their centre that melts his heart and the way her long lashes cast shadows when she sleeps. He spoke about how he likes nothing more than to watch those eyes flutter open in the mornings and how he thanks his lucky stars every day that as she had poured her heart out to him and trusted him with her deepest secret he had found the courage to do something about the love for each other he'd denied them both for so long.

He spoke of her bravery, of her generosity, of her endless love and empathy for the victims but of her sadness too, her stubbornness and defiance. He spoke of the physical ache, the void in his life, in his heart since the attack without any of the details that would only break his heart all over again. He spoke about how he still hears her giggle echo around his head, how whole conversations still replay in his mind, and finally how she brought him back and watched over him when he thought he was dying in the trunk of that car.

He spoke until his throat was raw, until the tears running silently down his face went dry. By the time he finished and looked up, Laura's eyes were closed, silent tears spilling uncontrollably down the side of her face.

"Don't stop, please," she begged as she reopened her eyes. "Please, keep her memory alive."

Grissom shook his head, suddenly overcome with his own grief, her words chilling him to the bone. He closed his eyes, unable to face what he knew now as certainty.

"You've already signed the papers, haven't you?" he said at last when he felt strong enough to brave her answer. There was no anger in his tone, just calm resignation.

Laura nodded, more tears spilling. "It's what Sara wants," she added in a sob.

His eyes clenched tighter still, his head shaking in denial, his reply inaudible. "No."

"Gil," Laura said grabbing his left hand with both hers, "You know it is what she wants – what we must do. You know her better than anyone." Her tone was soft, her voice low, a barely audible murmur. "You know how strong-minded and determined she is. You know she didn't make that decision lightly. She would have thought long and hard about it. It's clear that she wouldn't want to continue living as she is now. That's not a life. That's not Sara's life. You said it yourself, Sara is – was full of life, full of spirit, of emotion, she certainly was as a little girl and from what I gather from you and her friends – her _family_ – she was still the same."

Laura's use of the past tense cut him like a knife. "I can't let her go," he said pleadingly. "I just can't."

Laura sniffed. "We have no choice."

Grissom was looking pale and sweaty, growing agitated, his breathing coming short and fast. "We do, please."

"Do you not agree with her decision?" He didn't reply. "Are you against her wish to donate her organs, is that it?" she probed again.

"No," he denied passionately. "I think it's the most selfless act anyone can ever do; the biggest gift and legacy we can leave after we die-"

"Would you rather watch her wilt away and die anyway?" she said in a gasp. "Watch her lie in that hospital bed for the rest of her life – of your life? You know that's not Sara lying there. The real Sara couldn't sit still for two minutes. The real Sara is gone. Gone," she repeated, the word swallowed in a heartbreaking sob.

He remained silent, stubborn tears unshed as he struggled to breathe.

Laura glanced anxiously toward the cardiac monitor and stopped short on noticing Grissom's distress. "Do you want me to call someone?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes as he focused on calming his racing heart. "It'll pass."

Laura was casting fearful glances toward the curtain debating with herself whether to go and call a nurse. Instead, she took Grissom's hand in hers and stared into his eyes, into his soul. "What is it you fear?" she asked softly as though she could read his deepest thoughts and emotion. "There's nothing to fear," she continued. "Sara will always be with you – with us. She can never leave us because she's a part of us."

Grissom stared at the truth of Laura's words into her eyes, the brown chocolate in their centre almost hypnotic, until it wasn't Laura he was seeing but Sara, his heartbeat returning to normal almost instantly. "I fear that if I let her go, my memory of her will go too, will die with her. That I will forget. I fear that my love for her will fade, that we will lose our bond, our connection and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to-"

"I'm sorry I'll never get to apologise to her," Laura said, cutting into his words. "I'm sorry I'll never get to explain that what I did I did out of love for her and her brother. I'm sorry I'll never get to tell her how much I loved her but deep down I have to hang on to the belief that she knew, despite it all, that she knew I love her deeply as only a mother can." She smiled at Grissom so tenderly then, so lovingly that he covered his face with his hand. "It is time," she said, her voice merging with Sara's in his ears. "It is time to say goodbye and let me go."

Grissom calmly reopened his eyes. They were dry, staring unblinkingly, blankly and he nodded his head at Laura's words in understanding, in resignation, in acceptance. He swallowed his pain, his bitterness, and his anger and cleared his throat. "Just promise me that you will wait until I'm able to travel and I can see her one last time before you go ahead." Fresh tears rose but he didn't shed them. "Please, promise me. I need to hear you say the words. I need to see her. I need to touch her. I need to kiss her one last time and tell her I'll always keep her in my heart."

Laura smiled through her tears and nodded. "I promise."

* * *

Tbc.


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: I know I said there probably wouldn't be anymore updates until after I got back from France but after a dry spell, my muse is back with me. So, I'm striking while the iron's hot. This chapter's not so angst filled (I think) but is still emotional (maybe a small corner of a hanky just to dab, nothing more). ;-)

I hope you like it.

* * *

There was a flutter of the curtain as the door opened and closed. Laura startled, releasing the soft hold she had on Grissom and springing to her feet. "I think I may have outstayed my welcome," she told him warmly, wiping at a rogue tear in the corner of her eye.

"I'm very glad you came," Grissom said, keeping a hold of her hand, and he meant it. "I'm sorry you won't get to meet and know the amazing woman that Sara is. I'm sure, under different circumstances, she'd-"

Laura's smile quivered. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I don't expect you to absolve me of my sins." She paused, lowering her gaze to their hands. "You're a good man, Gil. Sara's lucky to have found you."

He shook his head at her words. "I'm the lucky one. I'm lucky she persisted and didn't leave. Sadly, over the years I gave her plenty of reasons to."

"One of the things life has taught me is never to regret the past. Sara knew you loved her, I'm sure of it."

Catherine popped her head round the curtain before Grissom had time to reply. "Hey, Gil," she said when he looked round toward her, the grin of pleasure at seeing her friend awake and sitting up speaking volume. Her gaze flitted to Laura and she stared at the woman with surprise. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt. I can come back later if…"

Grissom looked away quickly and wiped his eyes. He took a short moment and then smiling beckoned Catherine in. "No, Catherine, come in. I want you to meet Sara's mother. Laura, this is Catherine Willows, a very good friend of mine and of Sara's too."

"Hello, Mrs Sidle," Catherine said warmly, quickly crossing the room and extending her hand to Laura. Looking bemused and staring at Catherine as she approached, Laura shook the proffered hand uncertainly. "I'm sorry to be meeting you under such sad circumstances," Catherine said. Then, turning toward Grissom she grinned pleasurably and unable to contain her excitement further exclaimed, "I've got some good news!"

But Grissom's attention had drifted to Laura who was staring at Catherine with confusion, a deep-etched frown creasing her forehead. "Laura, is everything okay?" he asked fearfully.

Laura turned incredulous eyes toward Grissom and then back to Catherine. "I don't understand," she said, her voice breaking. "_You_'re Catherine?" Catherine's expression shifted, her grin slipping. "You're the Catherine who works with Sara?" Catherine gave a hesitant nod of the head while glancing warily toward Grissom. "But if you're Catherine, who's the woman I spoke to this morning?"

"What woman?" the CSI asked, keeping her eyes fixed on her friend.

"I'm okay," he said reading the slight look of panic on her face and pre-empting her next question. "I'm okay."

"The one who came to visit Sara," Laura replied in a gasp. "I thought she was you. She didn't correct me when...She _knew_ things and -"

It didn't take Catherine long to put two and two together. "Maybe we ought to let Grissom rest," she told Laura pointedly, forcing a smile. "Shall we go for a coffee?"

"A coffee?" Laura repeated with confusion.

"No, Catherine," Grissom said firmly, anxiously, as Catherine began to move away. He took a breath, adding pleadingly, "Please, I need to hear this. I need to know. What's going on? What are you keeping from me?"

Catherine let out a long breath. "I don't know, Gil; I don't want a repeat of what I saw yesterday. You really scared the hell out of me." Then she sighed at his beseeching look, relenting slightly, her gaze flicking between Grissom and Laura as she debated the wisdom of telling him the truth.

"Sara's fine," Laura insisted, smiling at Grissom when she noticed the look of dread crossing his eyes as Catherine wavered. "I stayed with her all morning and I promise you there had been no change to her status when I left. Captain Brass came; he said he was staying with her."

"She's right," Catherine said. "Sara _is_ okay. She's safe but…there _was_ another security breach at the hospital."

"What?" Grissom gasped with disbelief. "But how? I thought security had been tightened." He paused, his eyes darkening angrily. "It's got to be McKay, Catherine. It's got to be her. I told Brass she was headed back to Vegas. I told him she was going to finish the job-"

Catherine nodded, choosing her words carefully. "You're right, Gil; McKay's back in Vegas and we have evidence that she faked her way into ICU." She stopped and watched Grissom carefully for signs of distress. There were none and keeping her voice calm and controlled, she added, "We also knew she had _tried_ to gain access to Sara's room – Pritchard's had to be admitted for poisoning – but until now we didn't think she actually had managed to. I can't believe that bitch had the nerve to pretend to be me," she spat, her cool slipping as she turned toward Laura. "Your presence must have curtailed her plans because she didn't do Sara any harm."

"I'm going to be sick," Laura gasped, bringing a hand to her stomach and turning away.

"Are you sure?" Grissom asked Catherine, who nodded her reply earnestly.

Catherine's words gave Grissom pause and he rubbed a shaky hand over his face. "I don't know," he said, his mind suddenly CSI-like. "She wouldn't let a small detail like being interrupted stop her. Do you have any evidence she left the hospital? She clearly knows her way around it and she may even have some contact there. She could be lying in wait somewhere until – until-"

Catherine looked at the cardiac monitor and forced a smile. "If she is, we'll find her but she can't get to Sara anymore. We had her moved. We-"

"Oh, my God," Laura said in a gasp, interrupting Catherine mid-sentence. "I told this…_McKay_ things; I thought that she was you and I said some things…"

"What things?" Catherine cut in gently.

Laura turned toward Catherine. "I told her where Mr Grissom was and that he was recovering from the crash." Laura's face fell and she swivelled back toward Grissom. "I told her I was coming up to see you today. I've left the door open for her to go and hurt Sara all over again."

Catherine glanced warily toward Grissom whose eyes were now closed, his breathing laboured, and his chest heaving painfully. "Laura, stop," Catherine said firmly, aware she needed to end this conversation before it was too late. "Sara's safe."

She moved to the bed and took Grissom's hand in hers, watching with fear in her eyes for his breathing to calm. "She's _safe_, Gil, I promise you," she repeated in a whisper when the scraggy line on the heart monitor began to slow to a more normal rhythm. "That was supposed to be my good news," she added in a small sad voice. "We had her moved. We had her transferred to a different hospital. A safe location, no one knows about but me, Brass, that creep Purcell and a few others. I was on the phone to Vegas all day, arranging her move." A flash of fear suddenly crossed her face and she looked away.

"What is it?" Grissom asked, misunderstanding the sudden shift in her expression. "Are you worried McKay's headed here? Let her come to me. Use me as bait. I'm not scared; it's the only way we're going to catch her. As long as Sara's safe, I don't care what happens to me-"

Catherine's long sigh cut him short and she shook her head at his words. "You don't understand, Gil. Sara's here. She's right here; we brought her to you."

Grissom scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. "She's here?" he repeated.

Catherine nodded. "She should arrive within the next hour."

"You brought her here?"

Catherine didn't know what to make of Grissom's reaction. "I did. I'm sorry. We didn't know about McKay. I thought-"

"You did this for me?"

Catherine gave another slow nod of the head, her gaze flicking to Laura who had begun to pace the small space by Grissom's bed anxiously.

"I didn't allow the move," Laura interjected, an edge to her voice. "I didn't give my consent for Sara to be transferred – here, of all places! What were you thinking? On whose authority did you-"

Catherine cut in with, "The hospital tried to get in contact with you but-"

"Laura…" Grissom whispered softly, touching her arm. "It's okay. They can watch her, make sure she's fine."

"No," Laura said turning toward Grissom. "That's not good enough. They couldn't watch her in Vegas; what makes you think they can do a better job of it here?"

"We'll watch over her," Grissom said. "You and me."

Catherine took a breath and glanced toward Grissom. "Listen, Mrs Sidle, we didn't take the decision lightly." The door to the room opened and shut and Catherine lowered her voice a notch. "Besides, we did get her next-of-kin's consent."

Laura's brow creased into a frown. "I don't' understand. Wh-Who…"

"Me, mom," a male voice replied from behind the curtain before it opened. "_I _signed the papers. I authorised the transfer."

Laura turned wide eyes toward her son. "Mattie," she said in a disbelieving gasp. "You came?"

Matthew Sidle nodded his head briskly. He wore a crumpled suit, the tie long discarded, worry and long hours of travelling showing on his face. His expression was sombre, his gaze dark, his stance stiff and guarded and he took a reluctant step toward his mother, then stopped, his gaze flicking hesitantly toward Grissom and Catherine. Laura opened her arms toward her son, her eyes swimming with tears, and covered the small distance toward him. Sobbing, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight until tears welled in Matthew's eyes and he reluctantly hugged his mother back.

"Come on, mom. I could do with a stiff coffee; let's go talk somewhere quieter."

Laura sniffed loudly and nodded her head into her son's shoulder. He looked over her head toward Grissom and Catherine, acknowledging them with a curt nod of the head before turning and guiding his mother out.

As soon as Laura and Matthew left, Grissom held out his hand to Catherine. She smiled and reached over to give it a gentle squeeze. She perched herself on the edge of the bed and keeping her eyes on their joined hands, said, "I'm sorry, Gil. If I'd known McKay knew about you being here I'd have-"

"No, Catherine," Grissom cut in. "I really- I- Thank you." She looked up and he smiled at her, shyly, sheepishly. He shrugged. "I don't know what to say."

Catherine grinned fondly. "Then don't say anything."

He nodded, holding her gaze, his smile happy. "Did you get in touch with Sara's brother?"

"No, I didn't. He arrived some time this afternoon; Laura must have called him. Purcell was being difficult about agreeing to the transfer and we didn't know where Laura was. So when Matthew arrived and Brass explained the situation he had no hesitation." Catherine paused, briefly lowering her gaze, obviously hesitating to speak her mind. Then she said, "I couldn't help noticing a little frostiness between mother and son then and Sara never ever spoke about her family…"

"It's complicated," Grissom cut in, in the kind of tone that indicated that he didn't wish to discuss the topic further. Catherine nodded with a grudging smile. "Will you stay with me for a while?" he asked after a moment.

Smiling, she squeezed his hand warmly. "Sure." Then she looked down and played with his fingers a little nervously. "I was thinking, you know about McKay, we could-"

He turned his hand, stilling her fingers. "Please, Cath, no. Not now. Don't spoil the moment. I don't want to think about her now – just…please – can you just please wait with me for Sara to arrive? Make sure I don't go to sleep?"

Catherine's smile was filled with pleasure. "Sure."

Grissom fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, a though going to sleep. Soon his battered face creased into a wistful smile as he let Sara's happy giggle fill his mind.

"_Sara?" he called as he gently kicked the door shut after him._

_He didn't hear any reply but the distant sound of her giggle punctuated by Hank's joyful barks, and he imagined them in the backyard playing ball. A smile of pleasure lit his work-weary face and he quickly tossed his keys into the bowl on the table by the door, shed his suit jacket, his shoes and briefcase, and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. _

_Sara's move to the townhouse had filled him with dread and he feared that quickly he would feel encumbered, tied down, suffocated. But no. Since she'd taken her rightful place in his house, in his heart, his loneliness had made way to companionship and fulfilment, love and laughter, and he'd not looked back._

_He poured himself a glass of ice cold water from the fridge, which he drank in one long, relieved gulp and placed it in the sink next to the water bottle she used when she went running. _So that's what she'd been doing,_ he thought. Flowers in hand, he went to the open back door. There, he paused and leaned his head against the doorjamb, his hands behind his back, watching them – watching her. _

_She wore her customary jogging shorts and top, rings of sweat spreading down the middle of her back and under her armpits. Her hair fell around her face, damp dirty strands clinging to her temple and yet he felt a surge of attraction, an aching in his stomach at the sight of her. Carefree, happy, laughing, at home._

_Hank bounded about the backyard, barking as though in laughter, asking for the ball to be thrown one more time and laughing, Sara relentlessly tossed the ball for him to fetch. He paused, turning toward Grissom and gave a loud yelp of pleasure at seeing his master back. He leapt toward his master and then back toward the ball as though asking Grissom to come and join the game. Resisting the temptation to go to Grissom he finally went in pursuit of the tennis ball that a moment ago had whizzed past his ears. _

"_How did it go in court?" Sara asked without looking as she tried to prise Hank's tennis ball out of his mouth._

_It was the second day he'd been in court testifying in a domestic violence case gone terribly wrong. "Not so good," he replied in a sigh. _

_She paused and turned to him, her smile becoming a little tentative. "You want to talk about it?"_

_His returning smile was loving. "No."_

_She crossed the yard to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "You hungry?" she asked. "You want me to make you some lunch?"_

"_No."_

_She pursed her face, studying him, pulled the knot of his tie loose and undid the top button of his shirt. Smiling, she brushed her hand against his bearded cheek, reading the weariness in his gaze, in his posture. "I'll go and run you a bath."_

_He nodded, startling slightly as though suddenly remembering the flowers. He shifted position, pulling back slightly to make way for his hand and the bunch he'd bought from a street seller near the courthouse, one of these spur of the moment things he'd been guilty of lately. He'd found himself rushing out of the building, hurrying down the concrete steps to the car lot at the back in his haste to go back to the sanctity of home – of Sara – when he had caught a glimpse of the flowers. He hadn't thought twice._

_Sara's face softened, surprise filling her features as she took the proffered bunch and brought them to her face to smell. She looked up. "They're beautiful, thank you." He leaned across to meet her lips. "What are they for?" she asked after a moment, her smile turning to a frown of worry._

_He shrugged a little sheepishly. "Can I not buy the woman I love flowers?" he replied, still surprised that he was finding is so easy, so natural to speak words to her he'd denied them both for so long._

_Tears of happiness rose in Sara's eyes. "I love you," was her murmured reply as she took his hand in hers, headed indoors._

Grissom wiped the moisture seeping out of the corners of his eyes and vainly tried to quell the sudden ache in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he'd never get to hear those words again. He felt the bed move as Catherine repositioned herself and sighed. "You're not keeping me awake," he said quietly, deliberately keeping his eyes closed in a futile attempt at concealing his pain but the quivering in his voice betrayed him.

"Gil…"

He reopened his eyes and smiled at her. "Do you know what I wish I'd done?" he then asked before she'd had time to say anything.

"No," she said in a whisper, her voice breaking at his pain.

His eyes closed again. "I wish I could have been brave enough to propose to her – to make the ultimate commitment. To love her as husband and wife."

He heard Catherine's gasp of surprise at his candour but then she seemed to catch herself. "Marriage is overrated, believe me, Gil," she said. "You don't need a ring on your finger or a piece of paper to show someone you love them. I'm sure Sara knew – in fact, I know she knew."

Amused by her words, he said, "We pulled the wool over your eyes, didn't we?"

Catherine's grin was reluctant. "Yeah. You did."

They fell into a companionable silence again, each to their own recollections and then he said, "Catherine?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

She reached for his hand and squeezed it warmly. "Don't mention it. I wish that there was more I could do for you."

"You're doing it. You're here. There's nothing you can do that will make anything better." She gave his hand another squeeze, once more lapsing into silence. "You're going to have to say something to me, you know? To keep me awake? Talk to me."

"Talk?" She laughed. "I can do that. What do you want me to talk to you about?"

"I don't know – you pick."

She pursed her face in thought. "So I guess you already know about the Cubs making history, right?"

Grissom tensed up at her words and at the painful memory associated with his beloved team. He closed his eyes, sighing. "Not the Cubs. Pick something else. Tell me about Hank. Has he found your shoes yet?"

* * *

Tbc.


	46. Chapter 46

A/N: I know, I know...don't even say it; I'm bad. I'm working on the next chapter as we speak so I have something to post while I'm away, as well as packing and purchasing alarm clocks! Oh, and please, leave a review. There won't be any tears in this chapter so you can't even use that as an excuse for not being able to review...

Take care and more as soon as I can. Thanks for reading! Sylvie.

* * *

"Thank you for coming Matthew," Laura said as she softly closed the door behind them. She heaved a sigh of relief at her son's comforting presence and lifted her hand up to his arm. "I appreciate the effort it must have taken for you to come at such short notice and after all this time."

Matthew turned round on his heels and abruptly shook her hand off him, causing Laura to suddenly flinch back with fear, the cool exterior he had displayed in Grissom's room darkening ominously. "You can drop the pretence now, _mom_," he said, the last word dripping with contempt. "I certainly didn't come here for you."

Her son's sudden change of mood caught her off guard and she averted her gaze to the ground to hide the pain his words had brought about. She took a few breaths before bravely bringing her gaze back up to meet his. "Still," she whispered forcing a brave smile and swallowing her sorrow and disappointment she added, "it means a lot to me that you're here."

Matthew gave a small scoff at her words. "Yeah, well, don't rejoice too soon."

Laura pinched her lips in anguish and brought a hesitant hand up to his arm again. "Mattie, please, we-"

"And don't call me that!" he spat angrily, lowering his voice at a passing nurse. "I haven't been him for _years_ – twenty years!" He turned away briskly and ran a shaky hand through his thinning, greying hair.

Taken aback at the vehemence of her son's anger, Laura withdrew her hand. "You're angry," she stated quietly.

He turned round abruptly. "Damn right, I'm angry," he almost shouted before casting a self-conscious glance up and down the corridor. "Damn right, I'm angry," he repeated a bit more calmly. "I've every right to be."

Laura looked around them self-consciously. "I'm sorry. You're right. Please, let me buy you a coffee; we can talk about this somewhere quieter."

"Talk about this?" he repeated with incredulity. "What is there to talk about?"

"Let's not do this in the corridor, please. Let's not make a scene here."

Matthew's face lit up with a twisted grin. "You are something else," he muttered, shaking his head with disbelief. "I can't believe you have the nerve to tell me not to cause a scene. It's a bit late to be worried about what people think, isn't it?"

Laura's shoulders' drooped and she sighed. "It's just…I thought that we could just maybe-"

"You thought what?" he asked through gritted teeth. "That we could make up for lost time? Forget all about the past? Be a happy family?" He paused, snickering at his words before taking a step toward his mother, his eyes wide with years of repressed anger, of bitter resentment. "Like I could ever forget what you did…like I could ever forgive. I sure as hell won't so don't even go there."

She brought a shaky hand back toward him and when he jerked it off briskly she shamefully averted her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry. I-"

"I'm not here for you," he cut in angrily. "I'm here for Sara. I'm here to stop you from killing her like you killed dad." He stared at his mother for a moment before shaking his head at her pitifully. Then his lips pursed into a bitter smile and he turned his back on her, headed toward the bank of elevators.

His words hit her like a punch in the stomach and she remained rooted to the spot watching as he repeatedly jabbed his thumb on the call button. Out of the blue, her stupor made way to anger and breathing hard she trotted down the corridor to catch up with him. "How dare you talk to me this way!" she said loudly. "I'm your _mother_ and as such you need to treat me with respect."

"Respect?" He laughed callously.

At that very moment, with that one word, Laura was taken back to 1984 and it wasn't Matthew standing in front of her but his father. She closed her eyes, shaking her head as the recollections of years of abuse leading to one dreadful act flooded her. "It's not the same!" she defended heatedly. "How can you even compare the two events?" When he didn't respond she forcefully turned him around by the shoulder so he had no choice but look at her and acknowledge her words. "How can you even think that I'm capable of doing such a thing to Sara? That I would want to kill my own daughter?"

As though branded by her touch, Matthew shook her hand off his shoulder just as the elevator doors slid open. "Take your hand off me!" he gritted menacingly. "I'm going to fight you on this," he then said, lowering his voice as people began to spill out of the car before pointing a sharp finger at her face. "I'm going to fight you all the way. You're not going to get away with it this time!"

Laura cowered slightly under his attack but then caught herself and squared up her shoulders. "Don't you point your finger at me, son," she said sternly.

He scoffed at her, his gaze narrowing. "Or you'll do what?" he sniggered.

Tears of frustrations filled Laura's eyes and she wiped at them furiously, her hands shaking so much that her movements were uncoordinated jerks. "Why are you doing this?" she asked pleadingly. "Mattie-Matthew, please answer me," she pleaded heartbreakingly, her voice a low whisper. The elevator doors began to close again but Matthew made no attempts to get in. "Is it to spite me, is that it? To punish me for what I did all those years ago? It was self-defence, Matthew, self-defence!"

Laura's words hung in the air between them for a long moment before Matthew broke the silence. "What did you expect?" he asked his tone now more resigned and sad than angry. He rubbed a weary hand over his day's stubble. "That we would just meet up and catch up after all these years? Share life stories over a cup of coffee?"

"No. Of course not - I simply hoped we could put our differences aside for Sara's sake."

"Is that what you think Sara would have done?" he asked. "You think she'd have just welcomed you with open arms; forgiven you for what you did to our lives?" He paused and let out a chilling laugh. "Did she ever reply to your letters, the tearful messages you left on our machines?" Laura's face fell and she turned away to hide the heartache his words was causing. "That's what I thought," he said in a snigger. "I don't care about you, mom. I'm only here for Sara and to make sure you don't get your way."

"Matthew, please, you're angry, you're bitter about the past. I understand that; it's natural. But please, don't take this anger out on Sara. She doesn't deserve it."

"She doesn't deserve to live?" he asked with disbelief. Blinking back more tears, Laura kept silent. "Sara didn't deserve any of the things that happened to her because of what you did either, did she? So how can you now tell me she deserves to die? That's what you're telling me, isn't it?"

"No – of course not. You're putting words into my mouth-"

"I'm going to get a lawyer and fight you on this," he continued. "You're not mentally stable – I'll get your next-of-kinship revoked."

"You can't do that! I'm her mother – her mother," she repeated in a fraught gasp.

"Then, why aren't you trying to save her? You've taken the advice of one doctor and signed her death warrant. Don't you feel anything for her? Anything at all?"

Lara was shaking, not daring to meet her son's furious gaze. "It's what Sara wants."

"How can you stand here and tell me that's what she wants? How can you begin to know what Sara wants? You've not been in our lives for more than twenty years! Sara would want us to fight for her! She's a survivor – nobody wants to die."

"She made a living will, Matthew. She made her wishes clear. Mr Grissom agrees. He said-"

"_He_'s not family," he cut in angrily. "He's nobody. It's not up to him to decide. He's got no rights in this."

"Sara would not want to live like this, like she is now," she continued with as much assurance as she could muster. "I've spoken to her friends, to Mr Grissom and they all agree. It's not Sara there. However beautiful she looks as she sleeps, the real Sara's gone, Matthew, and she's not going to wake up."

Tears built in Matthew's eyes and he didn't reply.

"Why prolong her agony?" Laura went on, her voice a barely audible whisper. "The agony for all of us."

"What about if that doctor in Vegas got it wrong? Have you thought about that? Have you bothered to seek a second opinion - a third? Or are you just content to let her die?" he asked cruelly.

"Miracles just don't happen, Matthew. Not for us, not ever."

"Miracles happen everyday. Everyday," he repeated but his tone lacked conviction.

"None of this is about Sara, is it?" Laura said quietly after a moment. "This is about what I did and you're seeking revenge. Please, don't use Sara to get to me…" She paused, her voice breaking. "She's your sister – you used to be close once upon a time."

"Yeah and you put a stop to that, didn't you?" The second elevator doors slid open and Matthew moved toward them.

"Please, don't do this," Laura pleaded. "I beg you." He stepped past a couple of nurses and inside the car. "Matthew!" she called desperately, ignoring the glances of the people disembarking.

Matthew turned round and looked his mother in the eye. His face was set, his eyes dark and cold, his tone when he spoke menacing. "Don't do anything until you hear from my lawyers, you hear me?"

Laura swallowed the tightness in her throat before flicking her gaze to the ground but then she made herself look up and meet her son's darkened gaze. What she saw there filled her with dread but she bravely held his gaze until the elevator doors slid shut. Only then, did she allow her composure to slip altogether before breaking down in great heaving sobs. Her mind was in turmoil, Matthew's presence and obvious hatred toward her unleashing so many raw emotions she felt at breaking point.

And yet, she couldn't help wondering: Had her son been speaking the truth? Had she given up on her daughter too soon? Should she be believing a miracle was possible for Sara despite what the doctors had said? Isn't that what any mother would wish for their child?

* * *

"Nurse!" the woman on the other side of the curtain called loudly, startling Grissom out of his thoughts. "Nurse! You'd think they'd remember to pull the curtain shut, wouldn't you?" she added in a huff.

Not thinking for one moment the words were addressed to him, Grissom remained quiet, minding his own business. He was watching a poker tournament on cable with the sound turned off, unseeing, his mind on Sara. He was reeling. There she was so near and yet so far, unreachable, the silence in his head deafening. As promised, Catherine had stayed with him until Sara was settled in a private room in the ICU, their friendly chatter a welcome distraction. But when the time had come, he'd sadly been denied access to her room despite his heartfelt pleading.

_Soon_, the nurse had said, unwavering in her refusal. _Doctor's orders, _she'd whispered with regret at the crestfallen face and the tears of frustration and anger in his eyes. And sadly, soon wouldn't come soon enough for him. He'd argued and argued but eventually unable to go anywhere by himself he'd lost the battle. At least, he could take comfort in the thought that she wasn't on her own as Warrick had eagerly offered to watch over her.

"Nurse!" he heard again, once more jumping out of his skin.

He sighed. "Why don't you use the call button system designed for such instances," he grumbled as he attempted to refocus his thoughts on the action on the screen.

"People always do that; leave the curtain open," the woman continued, undeterred by his grumpiness. There was an edge of sadness in her young voice that made Grissom listen. "Like it's not bad enough we have to listen to other people's private lives but now we got to watch it too. What are you in for?" she then asked without pausing for breath.

Grissom let out a long breath, pursing his lips at the woman's prying. His glance veered toward the open curtain and without turning fully to look at her, he said, "You want me to call someone to have it shut?"

She didn't reply and thinking she'd most probably taken offence at his tone, Grissom settled back on his pillow, once more returning his attention to the poker. When after a moment she hadn't attempted to make conversation again he chanced a curious look in her direction. Her ghostly-pale face was half-swallowed by her pillow, her brow shining with beads of perspiration. She was staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, eyes wide with intense pain. Her lips were moving as she quietly mumbled to herself while giving small, short pants.

Grissom watched her from the corner of his eye for a moment and then sighed. "You okay?" he asked softly, compelled to help. "You want me to call someone?"

"No," she replied between two breaths, keeping her gaze to the ceiling. "I'm counting my heart beats. It helps channel the pain. It'll pass soon enough."

Grissom nodded and once more settled to watch the game on TV. He'd been doing that too, counting his heartbeats, channelling the pain, so he left her to it. And when after several minutes she enthusiastically picked up their conversation where she had left off he blew out a long sigh, once again wishing he didn't have to share a room.

"I come here all the time," she was now saying in a small chuckle. "It's like a private clinic. When I get fed up with the kids, I check myself in. The service's not so bad really, the food could be better and Johnny, that's Dr Rodriguez to you, he's a real nice guy – and a good doctor, I guess. Patient, he's real patient but he's got to be with the likes of me."

She lapsed into a wistful silence and Grissom surprised himself by flicking his gaze off the TV toward her side of the room, waiting for more. "What's wrong with you?" he asked at last, pretending to return his attention to the poker.

"What?"

Grissom let out a small breath. "What's wrong with your heart?" he repeated with a little more warmth turning his head toward her bed.

She was looking straight at him and the wide smile she offered him gave his heart a jolt. He returned her smile with a small, reluctant one of his own as he realised that her striking up a conversation with him was just a way to dispel her fears, to ease her sense of loneliness and foreboding. Without knowing why, he felt a strange kinship with her, a connection and he realised that he wanted to keep talking to her, to know more about her.

"What's right with it, you mean?" she replied easily, pausing to shrug a seemingly-casual shoulder. "I've a complex congenital heart defect. I'd give you the proper name for it but you probably wouldn't know what it is. It's a real mouthful."

Grissom pursed his lips in amusement. "Try me."

A brow rose. "Tetralogy of Fallot," she said. "I was born with it. I had my first open-heart surgery when I was fourteen months old. You want to see the scar?"

A smile escaped and he shook his head. "No. It wouldn't gross me out, anyway."

"Ah, well, it generally does." She shrugged her disappointment, her expression turning serious. "I'm lucky to have lasted as long as I have really."

Grissom remained quiet, pondering her words. "If you've lived this long," he said, "the repairs when you were young must have worked. What are you in for this time?"

She looked suitably impressed. "You a doctor?"

"Of sorts."

"I picked up an infection when I was having some dental work done. It's happened before; they say I don't look after myself well enough. A couple of days on their sweet drugs and I'll be right as rain. What about you?" she asked in the same breath. "Car crash?" Grissom nodded his head vaguely. "At least they can fix you," she added.

"I don't think they can," he replied quietly just as the door to their room opened and shut.

"Clara," he heard the nurse say before he saw her. "Leave the poor man alone; he needs his rest and so do you." She popped her head round the curtain and threw Grissom a good-humoured wink.

"Spoilsport," Clara replied. "We weren't doing nothing wrong. Just chatting, we were."

The nurse pursed her face knowingly and walked to the other side of Grissom's bed. "Been chewing your ear, has she?" she asked while switching his television off in one fell swoop.

"Hey," he moaned, "I was watching that."

"Too bad," the nurse replied with a smile. "It's late and time to go to sleep. Let me lower this down." She motioned toward the head of his bed and pressed the button until he was lying almost flat. "You've got to be fresh for tomorrow's procedure. Do you feel any discomfort at all?"

"No-nothing. Have you heard anything about Sara?" he asked eagerly. "Only I was expecting my friend to come back with news but…"

"Visiting hours are over, Mr Grissom," the nurse cut in with mock-sternness as she checked the IV flow to his arm. "She was persistent, I'll grant her that. But no can do. I run a tight ship." She paused and made eye contact with him, smiling her apology that there wasn't more she could do for him.

Grissom nodded with a sigh and let her fuss over him for a moment longer. After filling in his chart, she moved to Clara's bed and repeated her checks before pulling the partition curtain flush to the wall at both ends. Then she bid them a cheerful "Good night," and flicked the main lights off on her way out.

The CSI reached up with his good hand and switched his overhead bed light on with a small scoff, thinking that he was old enough to decide when he'd go to sleep, thank you very much. With some difficulty, he pulled the photograph from under his pillow and placed it on the bed next to him, a loving smile adorning his lips as he traced the outline of Sara's face with his finger.

"I'm Clara," he heard the woman next door say after a while, cutting into his thoughts.

He already knew that, of course, and more, so much more, the curtains were so thin. "My name's Grissom," he replied readily in a hushed whisper. There was a pause and he shook his head at what he was doing. "Gil."

"I don't mind being here, you know?" Clara carried on quietly, unaware, as though they were long time friends, "they look after you well but it's just that I miss my kids so much every time."

Grissom turned his head so he was facing the curtain. "I'm sure they'll allow them to come and visit you tomorrow."

"They're funny with letting kids come the cardiac ward. Besides, I don't like them to see me like that."

Surprising even himself, Grissom asked, "How many?"

"Two. A boy and a girl." He could hear the pride in Clara's voice and he smiled. "Alex, he's my boy. He's almost six. Izzie's two and a half. They're too little to understand why their mommy's not putting them to bed, you know?"

Grissom closed his eyes wearily, Clara's voice a sweet companion to his tormented mind. "Who's looking after them now?" he asked gently after a moment.

"Their dad, but he's got to go to work, you know? I'm a stay-at-home mom, so it all falls on him for money and medical insurance and God knows we badly need it." Content to let her talk, Grissom remained silent. "Duke has to take the time off work to look after them every time I'm here but this time I'm hoping to be out quickly," she stopped talking abruptly and gave a low chuckle. "I'm sorry; I have this nasty habit of talking too much when I'm nervous. I just find it so quiet here, you know?" He could hardly make out her words now they were so soft. "Too quiet," she mused. "At home, it's never quiet."

Clara lapsed into silence and thinking she'd gone to sleep, Grissom closed his eyes suddenly feeling very tired and sleepy himself.

"I heard you talk a little before," she continued after a minute or two, "about your wife." Grissom's eyes reopened and he let out a long breath, wishing now he'd never encouraged her to talk. His gaze flicked down to the photograph by his hand. "That's real sad," she went on, unaware of the emotions talking about Sara unleashed, "real sad. Is she in intensive care? Were you in the same accident together?"

"Yes," he heard himself reply, his voice suddenly fraught with sorrow.

"And they've not allowed you to see her?"

"No." There was a long pause while Grissom thought of Sara on the floor above, sleeping soundly while he was stuck there, wide awake. And yet somehow he didn't resent Clara for what she was saying, on the contrary he found her presence soothing, reassuring…welcomed and he simply opened up to her. "They don't think I'm well enough to be moved," he explained. "They said that that'd be too high a risk for my heart. They said not until tomorrow after my op."

She snickered at his words. "They always do – they're such scaremongers." She paused and there was a rustle of bed covers. "Well, maybe I can help you with that."

* * *

Tbc.


	47. Chapter 47

"Another Jameson. Neat," she said drunkenly raising her empty glass at the bartender.

The bartender sighed, glancing toward the almost empty bottle of Irish whiskey stood on the counter. "I think you've had enough, Lady."

She placed an elbow on the counter and used the palm of her hand to prop her head up. "You seem a good boy." She smiled, winked and raised her glass, all in one blurry move. "Just one more," she instructed with a nod to the glass.

The bartender shook his head. "Sorry, Lady, but no can do."

She heaved a great sigh, resigned, and blinked uncertainly, trying to clear her vision. "I've not touch the stuff since Christmas Eve 1984. I've been sober for twenty-two years," she said in a proud slur, meeting his gaze the best she could. "I got plenty of years of drinking to make up."

"Me – five," the bartender replied evenly. Laura slowly raised her empty glass at his achievement. "Come on," he said with a little more warmth, "it's getting late. Time to go home."

Laura scoffed. "Home? I got no home to go to."

"I'll call you a cab."

"I'm okay. I'm all right. I'm sorry to be a nuisance. I don't mean to. I'll be on my way now." She slid off the high stool onto shaky feet, leaning heavily against the counter in order to stay upright.

"Can I call someone? Your husband? It's not safe this late out there in the state you're in."

She laughed emptily. "He's dead. I killed him."

The bartender cocked a brow but it was clear from his expression that he didn't believe her. "Your children, then?"

Her face closed off. "They hate me. Come on sweetie," she pleaded over-sweetly, her head lolling to the side as she tried to maintain eye contact. "Just one last one – for the road."

He shook his head again. "You'd do the same for me under different circumstances." She smiled bleary-eyed at him. "What about friends?" he went on. "A sponsor. You got one of them?"

"As a matter of fact I do," she replied in a slur before scrunching her face into a frown as she caught her reflection in the wall-length mirror behind the bar. She stared at herself for a long time, her face softening into a fond smile. "Sara?" she asked hesitantly, peering cross-eyed at herself as she leaned over the counter closer the mirror. She tried to clear her vision, blinking uncertainly before checking round over her shoulder. "Sara?"

"Is that the name of your friend?" the bartender asked evenly.

Laura clenched her eyes shut, then reopened them, and smiled, turning back toward the bartender. "It's okay; my daughter's here. She's a good girl – done very well for herself. Didn't follow in my footsteps, that's for sure." She smiled reassuringly and glanced back toward her reflection in the mirror. "She'll take me home."

The bartender shook his head in exasperation and sighed before reluctantly moving off to the other end of the counter to serve another customer. The latter's gaze was fixed on Laura's reflection in the mirror, her face lit up with unexpected and incredulous glee at the spectacle she'd just been privy to. The woman turned round and watched with interest as Laura clumsily stooped to pick up her purse and happily mumbling to herself, staggered out of O'Malley's into the dark Reno night.

* * *

Grissom rolled his head on the pillow turning toward the curtain separating his side from Clara's. His face creased into a painful frown as he wondered what the young woman had meant by her words. "How do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Clara didn't reply. Before he knew it the curtain fluttered and he heard her get up from bed. Her silhouetted form moved behind the curtain and then her thin hand forcefully pulled it open. He took her in in one glance; she had shoulder-length blond hair, damp dirty strands sticking to her clammy forehead and cheek, and to the corner of her mouth; she was small, petite, almost waiflike with big, sunk-in vivid eyes, eyes which met his with genuine kindness but which almost seemed too big for her gaunt face.

He smiled at her, tenderly, almost wistfully, his eyes flicking to the creased hospital gown with the heart monitor wires sticking out over the top and then immediately to the dark, almost black bruise in the crook of her elbow where the IV line had been put in. He followed with his eyes the line neatly taped down the length of her forearm to the shaky hand clutching the folded-down bedrail for support. His gaze slowly slid back up to her face and he watched as she took a few shaky breaths, wondering what the hell she was up to in her condition. She didn't look fit to sit up, let alone stand.

Suddenly, she seemed to waver on her feet as though fainting and she fell back, sitting down heavily onto the edge of the bed, closing her eyes, her breath coming in slow rasped gasps. On instinct he reached out a hand to her. He tried to sit up and lift his leg to get up to help her but it felt dead, sore and heavy, and he was unable to do more than weakly lift his good hand in her direction.

"You okay?" he asked, keeping his voice soft, hiding his sudden panic.

She nodded her head weakly, keeping her eyes closed. "Just feeling a little faint," she breathed in a whisper. "It'll pass. I must have stood up too quickly."

Grissom could only watch as she took another pained breath and then another one. After what seemed like ages, she slowly reopened her eyes and threw him a flitting look. A look he recognised only too well. A look he had seen many times over the years. That stubborn, determined, I'm-going-to-do-this-whether-it-costs-me-my-life-and-not-be-beaten look and it scared the hell out of him. "Clara," he said firmly, "Get back to bed."

She smiled at him, ever so gently, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She was so young, looked so sick, yet there was something strong in her, determined. Grissom could very well imagine her sitting with her children, curled up in bed reading them stories and he felt this incredible urge to put his arm round her, take her home and protect her. He swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat as he thought of Sara.

"Get back to bed, Clara," he repeated, his voice soft and pleading. "Please."

Clara looked up and stared directly into his eyes as she obstinately pulled herself up on wobbly legs. He watched anxiously as she grabbed the edge of the bed for support and as slow bare feet shuffled weakly toward the bank of life-saving equipment sitting by the head of the bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked again. "Is there a problem with the equipment?"

She remained quiet and ran one long bony finger over the many buttons on the cardiac monitor until she came to a stop over the on/off switch. With no hesitation, she pressed it and then another one, exactly as he'd seen nurses do on countless occasions and then she slowly began pulling her electrodes off her chest.

Grissom swallowed, panic increasing in the pit of his stomach. He painfully raised his plaster cast and clumsily shuffled onto his side toward her. "What do you think you're doing?" he groaned through the sudden stab of pain in his chest, with growing anger and frustration that he wasn't able to do more to stop her.

Clara looked at Grissom and smiled tenderly. "Don't look so worried," she said. "The monitor doesn't keep you alive or anything, you know? It's just there to scare us."

"It's there so they can monitor your condition and keep you alive," Grissom gritted back in a loud whisper. "Don't be stupid! Get back to bed."

"Are you always this wound-up?" she retorted defiantly. "You know it's not good for your blood pressure, right?" she added in a chuckle. Grissom's answering glare caused her laughter to peter out and she shrugged apologetically. "I know; bad joke. I'm okay, truly. There's just something I really need to do."

He noticed her pallid complexion, the increasing shortness of breath and without a second thought reached for the call button.

"Don't, please," she begged. "I'm okay. I really am. I'll keep the IV line in, I promise. That's the important stuff."

Something in her gaze stopped him and he sighed, pausing with his finger over the button which for some reason he didn't press. "Do you want a telephone so you can speak to your kids, is that it?" he asked. "Do you miss them?"

"I do." She smiled at his thoughtfulness but then shook her head. "But it's not that. It's late and they're asleep - completely oblivious, away with the fairies. And that's how I want them to stay." She looked deep into his eyes and smiled again, broader this time.

"Do you need a bed pan?"

"No."

His eyes were pleading now, soft with concern. "Clara, get back to bed. Please. I won't tell. Just…get back to bed. You're making me nervous."

"I'm okay. Stop overreacting. You only got one life, you know? You got to make the most of it. If I'd listened to them, the doctors, my parents, I'd never have done anything. I'd never have had my kids. I –"

"Now's not the time to prove them right," he said, watching as she unhooked the fat IV bag dripping fluid into her arm from the fixed pole by her bed, moved to the front of the room and returned with a wheelchair with its own IV pole which she fixed her bag to and which she parked by his bed. "What's the chair for?" he asked with growing confusion.

Holding on to his bedrail, she carefully bent down to put the wheelchair brakes on. "That's for you."

"Me?" He flicked his eyes shut, shaking his head in confusion. "I'm stuck in this bed; I can't move."

Excitement now shone in her eyes. "I'm going to kidnap you; we're going to elope. We're going to live a little."

"What?" He shook his head again, blinking uncertainly, wondering whether the anti-arrhythmia drugs had hallucinogenic side-effects, or maybe whether the morphine had sent him into a deep slumber and he was dreaming. "I don't understand."

Propping herself on the edge of his bed, Clara moved to the cardiac monitor and switched it off.

Grissom watched silently, not in the least concerned by what she was doing. "Why?" he then heard himself ask softly. "Where do you want to take me?"

"I'd want someone to do this for me, you know?" she replied passionately, fuelling his confusion. "At the end."

"But I'm not dying," he insisted, befuddled.

"But she is."

Her comment was like a slap in his face and Grissom froze, closing his eyes at the searing pain.

"I'm sorry," Clara said quickly, touching him gently on the shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly. "I didn't mean to sound insensitive."

He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "You don't even know me."

"I don't need to - to know." She smiled when he uncovered his eyes. "You need cheering. Besides, you got your op in the morning. You might not make it through."

This was surreal – out of this world. He _must_ be dreaming. "Thanks a bunch," he said with mock-irritation. But her giddy recklessness was contagious, her forthrightness familiar and so very much loved. And he ached for Sara so very much. What did he have to lose? Boosted by some invisible force, an unexplainable surge of adrenaline, by his intense yearning to see Sara again before it was too late, he tried lifting his legs again, this time managing to shuffle them to the side of the bed. "We don't even know were she is," he said, wincing at the pain.

"Intensive care," she replied as she lowered his bedrail. "I know where that is. I've never been myself but I know my way round the hospital. We got five minutes at the most." She slowly helped him sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Intense pain was radiating through him and yet he wanted to laugh. "We won't make it."

"Come on! Where's your love? Your spirit? Those things you said before; were they just words? Didn't they mean anything?"

Grissom stared at Clara in the eye, reading her strength of character, her determination, her passion for life and he nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."

Clara's gaze suddenly veered off to a point to his left and she paused, staring. He followed her gaze, turning his head with difficulty, his breath catching as he noticed what had caught her eye. "That's her?" she asked softly and with surprise, a small smile lighting her face as she looked up toward him. "Your wife? Sara?"

He nodded, his smile quivering. "We're not married."

Clara smiled his comment off. "She is really young, really beautiful."

Grissom couldn't help give a small chuckle at the undisguised amazement in her voice and he turned, picking up the photograph with trembling fingers. "She is."

"Not that I'm saying you're old, obviously," Clara amended quickly as she leaned closer the photograph to look at Sara. Then she turned toward him, "but you're older."

Her youthful candour was refreshing. "I am."

"And you love her above everything else," she stated very quietly.

Grissom paused, hesitating, smiling as he stared at Sara. "I do. Very much so."

"Then come on," Clara urged. "Let's do it before we get busted."

Grissom looked up from Sara's smile and gave a determined nod of the head. He put the photo down on the bed and with her help took off his chest electrodes and shuffled right to the edge of the bed, his IV line taut to the maximum. Clara moved round and unhooked his IV bag, which she placed alongside hers on the pole. "Are you sure you're strong enough to do this?" he asked. "I won't be able to stand or hold myself upright at all."

"That's why we got a chair!"

She made it sound so simple, so straightforward. "I've never done anything this reckless, this stupid before."

"You never snuck out of your parents' house at night to go meet a girl?" He shook his head, his lips pursing negatively. "What about bunking off school for a quick kiss?" He was still shaking his head, amused and she widened her eyes at him in disbelief. "Okay. What about calling in sick because you couldn't bear to tear yourself away from her bed?"

His smile turned sad, almost regretful. "Nope. Never."

"You've never _lived?_"

Her words caught him off guard and he pondered them for a moment. He sighed. "At best we're going to get caught. At worst-" he stopped short for they both knew the consequences of their actions. He closed his eyes, back-tracking pitifully. He had to come to his senses; he had to be the sensible one. He had to do it for both their sakes. "Clara, stop," he said quietly. "I know why you're doing this. You're wanting to prove that you're bigger than-than your…condition; that it doesn't own you, define you."

Clara shook her head at his words and gently lifted one of his legs. "No. You're wrong. I'm doing this because-"

"Clara, stop," he repeated softly, reaching across with his good hand to stop her by the arm. "I appreciate the sentiment, I truly do, but I can't let you do that for me." He paused, waiting for her to look up, adding his tone light and teasing, "I wouldn't want your death on my conscience."

She straightened up and burst out in a quiet chuckle which soon turned to a pained grimace. Her face suddenly contorting, she lifted one hand to her heart, the other to the handle of the wheelchair to prop herself up as she doubled over, struggling to catch her breath.

"Clara!" he cried out in fear, reaching out a hand under her arm to hold her up.

But neither of them had enough strength to keep her up. With his help though, she managed to turn her body round before collapsing, sitting next to him onto the edge of the bed, the wind knocked out of her. She closed her eyes and leaned forward and down, concentrating on taking deep slow breaths.

"See?" he said as he gently brushed her hair away from her face. "I can't let you do this."

"We can't let them win!" she said weakly between ragged breaths as tears of frustrations pooled in the corner of her eyes.

"That's not the way to fight. Think of your kids, of your husband, your family, of going back home to them. Think about what that means to you. You've got a life in front of you with them. Getting better, taking care of yourself, living, that's the way to fight. Please, Clara, go back to bed."

He could tell she was beaten, whatever energy, adrenaline had boosted her actions a moment ago now completely sapped. "Come on, _Gil_," she teased in a feeble gasp but her heart wasn't in it any more.

"No." His tone was firm, his command inflexible and she let out a small resigned sigh. He took her hand in his, wincing slightly at how cold it felt, and squeezed it warmly. "I want nothing more than to be able to go and see Sara again, now, this instant with you. I'd love for you to be able to meet her. You'd like her and I know she'd like you too – very much. You remind me of her a lot.

"But I can't. So I'll wait. I'm good at doing that. Knowing she's so very near is good enough for me." He paused and lifted his hand to her face, coaxing it round gently until she had no choice but to look at him. She had tears in her eyes, wet streaks on her cheeks. It was the first time he could see them clearly and he startled at how blue they were, how clear and pure. "Thank you," he said into them, smiling warmly, almost tenderly. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a small kiss into its palm. "I appreciate what you were trying to do. Now, hook us back up and get back to bed before we get found out."

She smiled, nodding at his words. As she stood up, her face contorted suddenly, her mouth twisting into a painful grimace. She took a few shallow breaths, her eyes widening alarmingly as she stared imploringly at Grissom. The sudden fear in her gaze petrified him. Out of the blue, her eyes rolled back into her head and she lost consciousness, crumpling upon herself, onto him and he could only lower her down as gently as he could onto his bed. It all happened in a terrifying instant.

"Oh, my God, Clara, no!"

On impulse, Grissom lifted his right arm – his broken arm – to check on her but the searing pain brought upon by the sudden move brought tears to his eyes. "Nurse!" he called from the top of his voice, frantically rummaging behind him with his left hand for the call button. The photograph of Sara and him fell to the floor. "Someone, we need help!" he yelled again as he repeatedly pressed the button before dropping it to the bed and bringing trembling fingers to Clara's throat. His heart pounding in his chest, his breathing coming thick and fast, he waited for a beat – in vain and then repositioned his fingers, heaving a great shuddering breath when he finally felt a faint pulse. Her gown was pulled down, askew over her chest, revealing the tip of a fresh-looking red-raw oblong scar on the left side.

"Oh, Clara," he lamented, "why?"

* * *

Tbc.


	48. Chapter 48

A/N: Many, many thanks for the reviews the last chapter got; sorry I couldn't reply individually but know that I value each and every one of your comments. Thanks again.

* * *

Everything in the room seemed to hold its breath and Grissom could only wait powerlessly for help to arrive. "Someone, help!" he yelled again just as the door to their room burst open. "It's Clara!" he said in a frantic pant. "She's fainted."

The front curtain was pulled back with force as the nurse rushed in. She was the same nurse who had only just done her checks on them, happily bidding them both a good night a moment ago and her face fell instantly as she took in the sight.

"Oh, Jesus, no," she gasped before clambering over the wheelchair to Clara, immediately bringing her hand to the younger woman's throat. "What happened?" she asked anxiously. "What's she doing out of bed?"

She looked up toward Grissom perched at the edge of his bed, and frowned on noticing the lack of electrodes on his chest. He was pale and sweaty, his chest heaving painfully with each rasping breath he took. Her incredulous gaze flicked to his heart monitor, then back to the wheelchair with the two IV bags hanging from its pole, and finally across to Clara's bed as a picture of what must have taken place began to take shape. She shook her head in disbelief.

"I need some help in here," she shouted toward the open door as she reached in her pocket for a small flashlight which she quickly shone into Clara's pupils. She glanced toward Grissom, visibly concerned by his worsening state of health but deciding that Clara needed her help more urgently she uncurled the stethoscope sticking out of her pocket and fixed it to her ears.

"Clara, love, can you hear me?" she said as she slipped the small silver disc under the gown to the top of Clara's left breast and listened intently. She sighed, shaking her head again, and then quickly checked Clara for visible signs of injury. "Come on, girl, wake up for me," she said, gently shaking Clara's upper body. "How long ago did she lose consciousness?" she asked Grissom. "Did she feel faint before collapsing? Did she hit something?"

Now struggling with each breath he took, Grissom didn't reply, except to shake his head forlornly at the last question. His gaze flicked from Clara's chest to the nurse's face and then back down. He watched intently as the former lowered Clara's gown down to the ridge of her breasts, wordlessly moving the metal disk on her skin at regular interval.

"Come on, Clara," he urged silently. "You got to hang in there. Fight this." He reached over and took Clara's hand in his, squeezing it gently, willing her to wake.

A second nurse rushed in at that moment, quickly followed by an orderly. Both looked crestfallen at the sight. "Lisa?" the second nurse asked worriedly, peering over her colleague's shoulder down at Clara's limp body while the orderly unhooked the two IV bags and moved the wheelchair out of the way.

"She's lost consciousness, Kate," Lisa replied quietly but it was clear to Grissom through the look the two nurses shared that a lot more information was being communicated. "I'm getting very shallow unequal breast sounds. Poor right ventricular function and seriously decreased on the left side."

Kate nodded her understanding and glanced at Grissom, taking in his visible distress. She moved round the bed. "Sir? Mr Grissom?" she said softly when he didn't acknowledge her. "Let me help you."

Plunged in a sudden world of silence, Grissom said nothing. His eyes followed Lisa as she left Clara's side, moving to a cart at the front of the room and returning promptly with a small vial and syringe which she filled. His chest felt tight, compressed, the pain distant, detached, deserved. His vision blurred and he blinked a few times, watching as Lisa slid the needle into Clara's body and depressed the plunger.

Clara's face morphed with Sara's and suddenly he was taken back to five days ago, to Desert Breeze Park, to Sara's bloodied body hidden in the bushes, to his helplessness to help and protect her. It wasn't Clara's hand he was holding but Sara's and he was watching the paramedics' vain attempts at saving her life, willing her to regain consciousness and come back to him. Bile rose in his throat, his heart pounded in his ears and he closed his eyes, his powerlessness at once more stopping the inevitable breaking his heart all over again.

"Do you feel any chest pains?" he heard the nurse ask gently, as she placed a comforting hand on his arm, startling him out of his recollections, out of his stupor.

Grissom redirected wide watery eyes to Kate and shook his head. "I'm f-fine," he managed to croak in gasps.

But it was clear that Grissom was far from being fine. Silently, the nurse undid his gown at the neck, began reattaching his chest electrodes and switched his cardiac monitor back on. She fitted a small oxygen cannula into his nose and around his ears, adjusted the oxygen flow and waited a beat checking the various readings on the monitor. "Sir, please, you need to concentrate on taking slow breaths," she told him quietly. "Breathe deeply. Your heart's going a little faster than we'd like."

Grissom didn't acknowledge the nurse's words. He just rasped noisily, staring blankly at Clara's expressionless face.

"Mr Grissom, please," Kate said, "Look at me; not at Clara."

Grissom turned his head automatically. "Please," he wheezed. "I'm okay." He lifted a weak hand to his eyes and wiped their corners. "I'm okay. Help Clara. Please help her."

"Clara's in good hands," the nurse replied soothingly, smiling as she held his gaze. She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "She's in good hands; Nurse Holloway's taking care of her. Just take it easy, now. Breathe." She flicked her gaze over Grissom's shoulder, catching Lisa's eye and discreetly jerked her head toward the scraggy line on the monitor and then to his IV line, enquiring.

Her colleague glanced at the ECG reading and at Grissom, and gave a small almost imperceptible nod of her head in reply. She turned back to Clara, instructing the orderly to help her carry Clara back to her own bed. Then to Grissom, she asked again, "What was she like before she collapsed? How long was she on her feet for?"

"She was very weak," he replied between two slow breaths watching as Clara was carried back to her own bed and the orderly swiftly dispatched in search of Dr Rodriguez.

Kate moved round to the other side of his bed and lifted each of his legs in turn, turning him round slowly, manipulating him back into a lying down position before swiftly joining Clara's side.

"What in the name of God possessed her to get out of bed unaided?" Lisa told Kate under her breath. "It's not like she's not been told often enough."

Clara was laying there, atop the covers, her left arm hanging limply off the edge of the bed. Her head was thrown back and to the side, her mouth parted to allow for a gentle ebb and flow of air to pass and yet her chest remained flat, not rising as it should. The IV dripping fluid into her arm was back on the pole, deflated, and Kate waited with an oxygen mask in her outstretched hand, ready. The nurses were doing all they could to help and still it wasn't enough.

Grissom watched with bated breath while Lisa carefully fitted the mask over Clara's mouth and with Kate's help, lifted her up to untie the back of her gown before lowering her back down onto the bed. They pulled the gown down off the younger woman's chest, exposing small white breasts and the large scar he'd only caught a small glimpse of. It seemed to protrude, ugly, a red blight on the young woman's pale body, and his eyes drifted shut as he swallowed his pain.

He reopened his eyes to the sound of the slow but steady beeping of Clara's heart and found both nurses watching the reading on the heart monitor with worry.

"How is she?" he asked weakly.

Kate caught his eye and smiled, lifting a small, uncertain shoulder in reply.

He bleakly nodded his understanding. "She'd been out of bed ten minutes when she collapsed," he said, his voice low and sad, guilt-ridden. "Unconscious for less than a minute when you arrived." He took a few breaths, ran a weary hand over his grief-stricken face, rubbing the tears in the corner of his eyes. "She felt faint at first when she got up, her breathing was slightly laboured. But she said she was okay and she was. She was," he insisted, "considering. She was bright and lively for a while but then she just collapsed suddenly clenching her chest in pain. She tried to fight it off but…the pain wouldn't go away and I couldn't do anything to help her."

Lisa sighed, nodding. "You could have called us, let one of us know."

"I did."

"Why did you let it get this far?" There was no malice in her voice, just exasperation.

"I'm sorry."

"Lisa," Kate said quietly, "It's not his fault. You know what Clara's like. Once she's got something in her head, there's no stopping her. God only knows what she was trying to do this time."

"She was trying to help me," Grissom said in a whisper. "She sounded so sure – she was so determined – I didn't think. I'm sorry – I didn't know about her operation. She said she'd picked up an infection," he said almost inaudibly.

The nurses shared a look. "It's okay," Kate told Grissom soothingly. "It's not your fault."

"She was trying to help me," he repeated in a quiet voice.

Lisa glanced at Grissom, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mr Grissom. I didn't mean to take my frustrations out on you. It's just we've been here too many times with Clara and she should know better. You couldn't have stopped her even if you'd been able to."

However well-meant the nurse's words they did nothing to assuage his guilt and fears. "What's wrong with her?" he asked quietly, his eyes suddenly heavy with sleep as the drug administered to him started to take effect. "Is she going to be okay?"

The orderly returned, briskly curtaining off Clara's side. "I paged Dr Rodriguez," she said quietly. "Luckily, he was still in the ER. He's on his way up right now."

However hard he tried to stay focussed on the nurses' quiet discussion, it was no use, their words soon became a distant blur. "What's wrong with her?" he repeated again in a weak murmur. He never got a reply.

* * *

The door closed quietly behind him and he stood still, watching her with a sad smile on his lips. "Hey, Sar. It's me, Rick," he said quietly after a moment. "How do you like your new room, huh?" He glanced up from Sara's sleeping form to the rest of the dark room, almost eerily so, only lit up as it was by the soft glow of the machines keeping his friend alive. "Yeah, I know," he continued in a sigh, "Hospital rooms are much the same everywhere. Bleak."

He walked up to her side and gently smoothed the top of the bed sheet over her breast, mindful not to disturb the many tubes and wires sticking out from the top of the gown. He fidgeted restlessly for a minute, pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down on it. "Griss isn't far," he told her. "He's downstairs, sleeping. He wanted to come see you but they wouldn't let him on account of his injuries. His ticker's beating a little too fast but they've got it under control now. He's doing okay, I guess, so nothing to worry about."

Warrick lapsed into silence, wondering whether she'd been told about the kidnapping, the accident, about McKay being behind it all, hesitating to tell her about the real extent of Grissom's injuries, the supposedly routine operation scheduled for the morning, eventually deciding not to. He didn't tell her about his fears for Grissom's life, about how he thought he'd seen him die three times, about his worries that the man he regarded as a father, the strongest, steadiest man he knew, the only male role model in his life, now looked weak and broken.

He didn't tell her how the scene of the accident played over and over in his head, how when he'd watched the Thunderbird leave the road, careening down that ravine, almost exploding and killing Wallis, he thought Grissom was dead too. He didn't tell her he felt a failure for not being able to open the trunk and get Grissom out earlier, give him the help he badly needed.

No, he didn't tell her any of that.

He just stroked the side of her face with his bandaged hand, held her pale hand with his other much bigger and darker one, gently soothing, reassuring, letting her know he cared, they all cared for her deeply. He willed her, urged her to wake up and come back from wherever she was. The alternative was just unconceivable.

And the hours ticked by, slowly.

"Sara," he said quietly as dawn was finally breaking, "I know that you can hear me, that I'm not just talking to myself." He paused, sighing. "I know what the doctors said in Vegas but I've faith in you, girl. You're a tough cookie; you can beat this. Take as long as you need; God knows you've got days, weeks of sleep to make up."

He ran his gaze over her face, along the breathing tube twisting her mouth in a strange kind of smirk and he smiled, his face clouding over almost instantly with sadness. "So…I guess I should ask about Grissom and you, right? He…won't tell me anything about the two of you." He chuckled warmly, his deep, hearty, heart-warming laugh and then he shook his head, sighing wistfully. "I should have seen it though. Wish I had. I really wish I had."

He lapsed into silence again, checked his watch, sighed. He watched Sara some more, smiling through his heartbreak, wiped his eyes, got up to go stare out of the window, paced up and down, and then came back to her side. He was telling her about Tina wanting a baby, about how she thought it would bring them together, about how he thought it was too soon and the wrong reason to have a baby when the door opened quietly. The nurse doing her rounds again, he thought stopping in his monologue and turning to acknowledge her arrival.

A man stood with his hand on the door handle, visibly taken aback by Warrick's presence by Sara's side. "Who are you?" he demanded to know. "And what are you doing in my sister's room?"

Warrick unfolded his tall body, gently releasing Sara's hand, and sprung to his feet, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and incredulity. "You're Sara's brother?" He stared at the man stood by the door, almost asking for ID but the family resemblance was such that he didn't. The CSI glanced back toward Sara, his brow arched at discovering yet another secret and then moved toward the man, extending his hand in a friendly gesture. "I'm Warrick-"

"This is a restricted area," Matthew cut in, his tone sharp as he ignored Warrick's hand. "Only medical personnel and family members are allowed in."

Warrick's hand fell limply to his side. "I know-I'm…Warrick Brown," he repeated, as though his name should mean something. "I'm a CSI, and a good friend of Sara's – from Vegas. We work together."

Matthew brushed past Warrick toward the head of the bed, forcing the CSI to step back out of the way. "Good. Now you've said hello, you can go. If you're here to protect Sara from that nutjob, you can do it from outside her door." He took off his suit jacket and threw it over the back of the chair.

Warrick's eyes widened, his face darkening at Matthew's tone and attitude. "I didn't know Sara had a brother," he said defensively, staring at Matthew's back. "She never mentioned you before."

Matthew kept his back to Warrick. "Well, I'm sure there's a lot Sara _forgot_ to mention about her family." Warrick stared at Sara and sighed, his head shaking in disbelief. Matthew looked over his shoulder toward Warrick, his face dark with animosity, and met the CSI's eyes dead on. "What are you waiting for?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Go."

Warrick's gaze flicked back to Sara and he stared at her helplessly, as though any moment now she was going to wake and put a stop to this. "What?"

"You heard me."

"It doesn't have to be this way. We're on the same team, here."

"Are we?" Matthew turned round fully and pointed toward the door.

"What do you think you're doing, man?" Warrick said. "You can't do that. You can't just show up out of the blue and shut us out!"

"I'm shutting _you_ out. Now, go, or I'll have you removed and someone else guard her door."

Warrick stood still, wanting to argue, his saddened gaze once more moving to Sara. He watched her for a moment, his lips pinched together anxiously, his eyes blinking back his grief while Matthew watched him levelly, waiting. Eventually he took a step back, nodding his head slowly, resigned, and left the room. As he was closing the door, Matthew began talking to Sara in a quiet voice and intrigued, Warrick kept his hand on the handle, the door slightly ajar as he listened in.

"Hey, little sis," he heard him say. "It's me, Mattie." There was a long pause and Warrick almost closed the door. "You got to hang in there, Sara. I won't give up on you, so don't think you can go give up on yourself."

Matthew's voice was soft and friendly and optimistic, and Warrick could very well imagine the sad wistful smile on the older man's face. He sighed, the tight grip of his hand on the handle relaxing a little as he wondered why the attitude before if Matthew had Sara's best interests at heart.

"There's this doctor in Yale – a prominent neurologist," Matthew went on quietly, his tone hopeful. "He was in the news a while back, back East – some kid who crashed his bike. I'm going to get in touch with him, get a second opinion. It's going to be okay, Sara. I'm here now. I'm here. I'll look after you." There was another short pause and then a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Wondering what the apology was about, Warrick closed the door without a sound. He looked up and down the deserted corridor and walked to the window at the end of it, parting the blind's plastic slats with his fingers, squinting as the bright light of a brand new day hit his pupils. Life went on. He closed his eyes for a moment before reaching into his pocket for his cell, which he turned back on: Four missed calls; one each from Tina and Catherine, the last two from Brass.

The police captain picked up on the first ring. "Rick!" he said without preamble, his voice showing impatience and weariness. "You at the hospital?"

"Yep. Outside Sara's room as instructed." The CSI rubbed his hand over his tired eyes. "Why? What's up?"

There was a pause. "Is everything okay?"

Warrick's ears pricked up. "As okay as it's ever going to be in the circumstance," he replied warily. "Why?"

"It's McKay," Brass said in a sigh. "She's back, Warrick. Back in Reno."

* * *

Tbc.


	49. Chapter 49

A/N: I hope you enjoy this update more than you did the last one. Sorry, it's so long but well, you'll see why soon enough and I didn't have the heart to truncate it and I kept adding to it, so there you have it. Probably should have been two chapters.

* * *

Brass's news seemed to hang in the air for a long time and thinking he'd lost the connection the captain shifted position on his leather chair, asking, "Warrick, you're still with me? Did you hear what I just said?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry." The tiredness in the young CSI's reply was plain to hear and Brass could very well imagine what was going through his mind at that moment. McKay was relentless in her quest for revenge and not wasting any time. "And you're sure?" Warrick asked eventually, jarring Brass out of his thoughts. "How do you know she's back?"

Brass looked up to the ceiling and reclined back in his chair. "A little bit of nous and a lot of luck?" Loud words outside his office startled him and he quickly got up from his desk to shut his door. "Anyways, it's best you don't know all the details so..."

"I get the drift."

Brass heard the soft scratching sound of Warrick's hand against stubble and mimicked the gesture. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Warrick said in a sigh. "I just met Sara's brother. I don't know what to make of him."

Brass's face pursed with interest. "He seemed decent enough to me. Had Sara's best interests at heart, that's for sure. He signed the transfer papers straightaway."

"Hum, still. I'm reserving judgement."

"Sara's accident came as a shock to him and from what I gathered when we talked he hadn't seen Sara or their mother in a long time," Brass explained.

He perched on the edge of his desk, picked up Laura Sidle's mug shot and rap sheet, turning them round so they faced him, and sighed. He was staring at a young woman's face, the doleful, beat-up face of someone who had seen too much hurt in the world, a face so reminiscent of a woman he cared for so very much that he felt a fresh pang of sadness. No wonder Sara could be so down at times and never spoke of her family or past. No doubt her secret must have been a heavy cross to bear. If only he'd known he'd have done a lot of things differently. He sighed again, and wondered whether Grissom knew about it or whether she had kept him in the dark too.

"Jim? You're still there?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Brass shook himself out of his melancholy and back to the present. "Anyways, about McKay-"

"Well, we kind of expected she was headed back here," Warrick cut in. "It's just come sooner than Catherine or I thought." He paused. "There's absolutely no doubt about it?"

Brass smiled. "What you mean to ask is: do I have any hard evidence?"

Warrick gave a soft chuckle. "Well, do you?"

Brass pushed the case file he'd been reviewing out of the way and picked up a couple of grainy poor quality colour CCTV enlargements. "Oh, yes, I do." He sighed. "She's definitely back – Manhunt Red and all."

"You sound sure of yourself."

"I am. I'm staring at her ugly face right now. It's not pretty. Besides, I had the glass she was drinking from taken to the lab in Reno." He shook his head. "But, no, I'm sure, she's back all right. There's more," Brass went on after a slight hesitation. "We think – well, _I _think that she's got another accomplice."

"Well, Ma Barker had four sons," Warrick remarked with a sigh.

Brass's brow rose. "Yeah, but she didn't have any daughters."

"A woman accomplice?" Warrick said with disbelief. "Doesn't seem to fit the profile somehow."

_It doesn't,_ Brass almost agreed. Instead, he sighed and shook his head, his glance veering toward Laura Sidle's mug shot as he debated whether to share his still-unfounded suspicions with Warrick.

"Jim?" Warrick asked warily.

Brass closed his eyes and ran a weary hand over his face, mindful not to disturb his nose splint. He took a breath. "I think she's operating with Laura, Laura Sidle," he blurted out, hearing the incredulity in his own words even as he said them.

"Sara's mother?" Warrick almost shrieked, his scepticism evident. "How do you mean, _operating_ _with_?" he went on, his voice lowering.

Brass blew out a long breath into the phone. "Well, a CCTV camera outside St Mary's main entrance picked the two of them up, staggering out of a bar across the street."

"Jesus! When?"

"Late last night."

"Shit."

"By the time security reviewed the footage and realised it was McKay, she was long gone. My contact at Reno PD sent me a copy of the snapshots-"

"And you're sure it was Sara's mother with her?"

Brass laughed; he'd had the exact same reaction but despite his initial disbelief and his subsequent foray into Sara's mother's past, he'd known all along who McKay's drinking buddy was. "Well, what does she look like?" he asked Warrick.

"I don't know; we've never met but from what Greg and Nick said, she's an older version of Sara."

"Exactly. The mug shot I dug out doesn't do her justice but the resemblance is there." Brass sighed. "There's more; she's got an address in Reno. Vickers's checked it out. She's been living and working there for years."

"That's strange; you'd have thought Sara would have mentioned her if she lived so near." Brass kept silent. "Wow! Wait a minute," Warrick exclaimed suddenly. "Doesn't McKay have an address in Reno too?"

Brass chuckled. "Glad you're keeping up, Rick."

"Put it down to lack of sleep. And you think they know each other."

"That's certainly one way of putting it."

"It's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?"

"What, that Sara's mother and McKay are in cahoots? Sure it is, but what else do I go on?"

"Come on; you can't be thinking she's got anything to do with the original attack on Sara-"

"Think about it. McKay knew everything there was to know about Grissom and Sara. More than all of us put together. She knew Sara's routine; she knew where and when she ran, and about Hank. She got access into Sara's room at Desert Palm's even after I tightened security. Conveniently she's now in Reno, meeting up with Sara's mother. For all we know Laura made up this so-called meeting with a fake Catherine to muddy the waters-"

There was a knock at the door and Vega showed his face. Brass paused, mouthing to Vega that he was almost done and that he'd meet him in the lot.

"So why haven't you hauled her ass in jail when you had the chance?" Warrick was now asking.

"Laura Sidle's or McKay's?" Brass asked, not waiting for an answer before adding with a sigh, "I'm kind of hoping I'm wrong and that she's not in on it." he paused. "I'm…biding my time."

"Jim, what aren't you telling me?"

Brass opened his desk drawer and took his service weapon out. He checked the magazine, secured and holstered it. "I'd rather not say yet. I really don't want to think the worst of her but…let's just say I'm glad Sara's brother's turned up when he did." The detective could well imagine what was going through Warrick's mind at that moment but it couldn't be helped.

"You told Catherine?"

"Not yet." He gave a small chuckle. "I'm biding my time there too."

Warrick scoffed. "You mean that if you'd had this conversation with her she'd have wheedled out of you what you're keeping from me."

There was that of course, but also the fact that before he opened the Pandora's Box of Sara's past he wanted to speak with Grissom. "Listen Warrick, either way, Laura knows Sara's in Reno so even if their meeting was pure chance and McKay doesn't have a clue, it's only a matter of time before she does. So in the meantime we keep security to a maximum."

"What if Sara's mother comes to visit?"

"Act as normal. Watch her. Make sure she's not left on her own with Sara – or Grissom. You, Catherine, even a nurse…Hell the son; no love lost there from what I gathered and I got a good vibe about him. Just be on your guards."

"The brother checked out?"

Brass laughed. "Something like that."

"You think Sara's mother could be in danger?"

The thought had crossed Brass's mind, briefly. He shrugged and let out a long breath. "Can't do much about that without blowing our cover. Anyhow, I've arranged for some Reno PD officers to watch her house and more plain-clothed officers to patrol the hospital. They've all got McKay's description so when she does rear her ugly face-"

"We won't miss her." There was a pause. "Catherine's due to come in soon – take over watching Sara. As soon as she gets here, I'll go check on Griss."

"Any news?"

"Nah. Not since last night. Last I heard his op was scheduled for nine this morning."

"Well, if you get to see him before me…" Brass's words faltered and he let out a breath.

"I know-I will."

"And remember-"

"No taking candy from strangers, I know. How's Pritchard doing?"

Brass couldn't help the small chuckle. "Not so good. He died yesterday."

"Jesus."

"Exactly. Listen, Warrick, I got to go. Homicide in Paradise."

Warrick laughed. "I've got to say; I'm not missing Vegas."

"Not ready to come home yet?"

Warrick's sigh was long and fed up. "Don't you start on me too."

"The wife missing you?"

"Something like that."

* * *

The sweet familiar scent lingering all around was the first thing to hit him. Then the warm caress of her long fingers through his tousled curls, around the hollow of his eyes, down to his cheek, to his mouth, of soft lips pressing gently against his and all his other senses awakened. His lips parted allowing for a sigh of relief, a deep contented breath to escape, a loving smile unexpectedly curling his mouth as he slept.

Sara.

His eyes slowly fluttered open and his smile widened as a surge of love overtook him. "Sara, love, you came."

She grinned and stroked the back of her hand to the side of his face. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Grissom reached up to cup her face, lovingly brushing his thumb over her cheek, as though making sure she was real and not a figment of his imagination. "I'm good." His eyes stroked her face for a moment before closing and he sighed in relief again. "I'm glad you're here; I've missed you. I've been waiting for you to come all night." He shuffled to one side of the bed and patted the spot next to him. "Come sit beside me."

Sara's sigh when she sat down next to him was long and tired. "I know. I'm sorry."

The deep sadness emanating from her was encompassing and he sighed, shifting into a sitting position on the bed. "Let me hold you," he whispered, opening his arms out to her. "I want to feel you, please."

Sara smiled and snuggled deep into his arms, into his chest while he hugged her to him tightly and stroked her hair soothingly. She let out another heavy breath and they remained still, as one in each other's arms for a moment before Sara gently pulled herself away. She took his hand and ran her fingers up and down it. "I'd have come sooner but I had a visitor" she explained in a small voice.

Picking up on her weariness, Grissom sat up straighter and pushed her hair out of her eyes to make eye contact. "Your brother?"

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "Warrick."

Grissom nodded his understanding, his gaze turning solemn and sad. "How is he doing?"

"Not so good. He's feeling guilty for your accident."

Grissom's frown was one of surprise. "For what happened to me? But he couldn't have prevented any of it."

"I know but he thinks that if he'd got to you sooner-"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Grissom exclaimed heatedly. "He got to me and got me out, that's what matters. Besides, I'm doing okay now."

"I know but still. I think he needs to hear it from you. You need to tell him that; have a talk with him, put him straight or it's going to eat him up. You know what he thinks of you, how much you mean to him. He thinks he's let you down."

Grissom nodded, sighing. "I'll talk to him. After the op, I will, I promise." There was a pause when neither of them spoke and then, "What about your brother?" he asked causing Sara to flinch in surprise and turn away. "I take it from your reaction that he's been to see you?"

Sara's only response was to give an unimpressed scoff.

"You're not happy he's back?" he said with disbelief. Sara gave a small shake of her head but stubbornly refused to meet his gaze and he sighed. "Sara? Honey, talk to me please, tell me why you're so unhappy he's back."

She whipped her head up, her eyes ablaze with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "He's a selfish bastard who only thinks about himself and what's best for him, that's why."

"Sara…"

Sara's eyes filled. "He's going to cause a lot of pain and heartbreak, Gil – cause _you_ a lot of pain and heartbreak. And I can't bear for that to happen and for what? Nothing."

"How do you mean?"

She shook her head, averting her eyes to her hands but Grissom placed his index finger under her chin, lifting her head until their eyes met. His were probing, hers, resigned and she sighed. "He thinks I'm just going to miraculously wake up, that the doctors in Vegas got it wrong. He's going to try to keep me alive despite my wishes and people die every day because they can't get access to-to…"

"Sara, please stop," Grissom said excitedly. "Don't talk like that. I don't care about other people. I care about you. Let _them_ die and you live. Maybe your brother's right, Sara. What makes him think the doctors in Vegas got it wrong?"

"Guilt?"

Grissom sighed. "This is not about now, about what McKay's done, is it?"

"No," Sara replied in a small, almost childlike voice.

"This is about what happened after your mother killed your father, isn't it?"

Sara's only answer was to nod her head numbly.

He framed her face with his hands and looked at her in the eyes. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No," she said, calmer now. She swallowed. "Some stuff's better left untouched, buried. I wish he wasn't here, that's all. I wish he hadn't come."

"He let you down," Grissom stated softly.

Sara nodded and turned away hiding her tears. "It all happened a very long time ago."

He coaxed her face round. "Tell me about it, please."

She gently shook her head out of his grasp. "I can't."

"Sara…"

"I-I can't." She turned toward him and tried a small smile, her eyes pleading for him not to probe further. "Please, Gil, not now. I can't do this now; it's too much."

Knowing it was futile insisting he squeezed her hand, nodding, and lapsed into silence. After a moment he took a deep breath and chanced a look in her direction, picking his words with care. "You know I can't help thinking…maybe he's right. I'm not saying the doctors in Vegas got it wrong because I saw the scans and the EEG readings but what if with the right doctors, the proper care…they can operate on you? We know so little about the brain, Sara, about how it works…so little…and it's so soon."

Sara snapped her head round, her eyes wide with dread. "Gil, please, don't do this to yourself. Not now; not when you've finally come to terms with it all."

"But what if he's right?" Grissom argued again. "I got blinded by my pain, Sara, my rage against McKay and my need for revenge and what's happened to me since, but Sara, I should be the one to believe you can get better – that you will get better. I should be the one believing in miracles."

"People just don't wake up when they're clinically dead, Gil. You know that. It just doesn't happen."

"Maybe they-"

"No, Gil. They might be able to prolong my life but at what cost? I don't want to be like Kay, a soul trapped inside a dead body and I don't want you to be like Tom, living a death sentence every day." She met his sad eyes and smiled. "Please, I beg you, don't do this to yourself. I couldn't stand it."

Grissom's eyes were averted and he didn't reply.

"Let's not talk about it anymore," she continued, her tone coaxing now, her previous mood dissipating. "Let's talk about your new best friend," she said brightly. "Should I be worried, _concerned_ even that you should strike a friendship with someone you've only just met?"

He watched her for a moment, wanting to argue his point but the grin suddenly lighting her face warmed him to his core, immediately easing his own sadness, and he allowed his mind to wander back to when they first met. "It wouldn't be the first time," he replied, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

"So, you're telling me I should be worried," she mused teasingly. "We both know what happened last time."

"I fell in love with you," he laughed before asking, a twinkle sparkling in his eye, "Are you a little…jealous, maybe?"

She laughed. "Of Clara? No." She shook her head. "On the contrary; she's good for you."

"You'd like her."

Sara nodded. "I'm sure I would."

His face suddenly became solemn, sad and he sighed. "She's very sick. I'm worried she didn't tell me the truth about the full extent of what's wrong with her and now…she's not doing so good and it's all my fault."

"Your great escape didn't go according to plans, huh?"

"I'm no Steve McQueen."

Sara's brow arched, her head swaying from side to side ready to argue the point but the quick-fire retort twitching at the corners of her lips remained unsaid.

He shook his head again, a shadow crossing his eyes. "I should have known better. I _know_ better that to take stupid risks. I should _never_ have let it get that far…"

"Sshh," she soothed. "Don't regret what's happened. Never regret the past, Catherine once told me and she was right. You couldn't have prevented what happened to Clara, Gil, any more than you could have prevented what happened to me. You mustn't blame yourself; none of it was your fault. You didn't make her do anything she didn't want to do."

"Still." He glanced toward the curtain separating his from Clara's side and sighed. "And now they won't tell me anything and I'm afraid she's going to die."

"That's a strong possibility but she's been sick a long time, Gil."

"You're so calm about it, so-"

"Resigned?" Sara smiled lovingly. "How can I be anything else?"

Grissom stared at her and thought about her question. "You're very much like your mother," he remarked quietly after a moment. To which, Sara scoffed and he added quickly, "I'm sorry, I didn't to imply- I didn't mean it the way it came out."

She stroked her hand to his cheek comfortingly. "I know. I know you didn't." She shrugged. "What did you think of her? My mother."

"I liked her, Sara." Sara looked surprised and he shrugged apologetically. "I really did. She seemed very genuine. She was truly sorry, repentant about a lot of things and she really wished you'd returned her attempts at making contact so she could make amends." He paused. "I think you'd have liked her."

Sara crossed her arms over her chest, turning away defensively.

"I don't condone what she did, to your father, to you and your brother, to your family but the woman I met had come a long way, Sara."

Sara nodded, her gaze darting all over the room except to meet his. She smiled suddenly, pinching her lips to stifle her smile. "You know…about what you said to Catherine yesterday afternoon…"

Grissom frowned at the sudden change in conversation and at Sara's obvious avoidance tactics. He dipped his head to make eye contact with her but the grin now adorning her lips was contagious and he couldn't help grin back. "I said a lot of things to Catherine yesterday," he said eventually, knowing exactly which bit of the conversation she was referring to.

Sara giggled. "You know what I'm talking about. Is it true...what you told her?"

He stared into her eyes, reaching across to brush a strand of hair out of the way, and shrugged. "Yes," he said with confidence. "I wish I'd have been brave enough."

Sara took his left hand in hers and studied his ring finger, causing him to frown, his gaze turning sad and wistful.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She looked up and smiled sadly. "I saw the ring."

His frown deepened. "What ring?"

"Your grandmother's ring – the one you keep in your sock drawer," she said in a whisper, as though she was revealing a well-hidden secret. "I tried it on." She shrugged a little apologetically and met his gaze. "I couldn't help myself." He was smiling broadly now, wondering whether she'd read the inscription he'd had engraved for her. "I know you had it resized…for me," she added almost reluctantly.

He nodded and sighed, averting his gaze to the side. "I did." Then he shook his head sadly, looking up and saying in a murmur, "I almost did."

Sara's eyes were wide with disbelief. "Almost what? Propose?" He nodded keenly. "You wanted to?" He shrugged mildly in a it's-no-big-deal fashion. "When? But, how…Gil…how could we…_when_?" she repeated with wonderment.

His shoulder lifted again. "Do you remember the Diane Chase case?"

Her face took on a pained expression. "Nooo," she cried out as realisation dawned, her head shaking helplessly. "Gil, no. Tell me it's not what I'm thinking."

Her dismay made him laugh. "Oh, yes. What you said then in the break room in front of everyone, you were so sure, so adamant marriage wasn't for you…I just put the damn thing back in its box and promptly forgot about it." His face fell suddenly as he thought of McKay with the ring – Sara's ring – and he looked away.

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," Sara soothed softly as she read the sadness in his eyes. "You'll get it back when you catch her."

He heaved a long sigh and lifted sad, resigned eyes at her. "But I won't be able to place it on your finger."

Sara watched the emotion reflected in his gaze and smiled tenderly, her eyes shining with tears. She pulled her hand away and brought it to his face, to his cheek. "You don't need to," she told him passionately. "What you and I have is…it's _better_ than marriage. It's…timeless, boundless…greater." She lowered her hand to his heart and placed her left one over hers. "What you and I have is rare. It's blessed…transcendent. It's ours. Ours only. Together or apart, we'll always have this. Always."

The door to Grissom's room opened and two voices talking quietly filled the silence.

Grissom brought his hand to Sara's face and stroked her cheek, nodding into her eyes. He leaned his face close to her ear and murmured solemnly, "I will get to slip that ring on your finger, Miss Sidle, if that's the last thing I ever do. I love you."

Sara smiled, "I know," and got up from the bed. "I hear a pretty nurse's footsteps," she whispered into his ear, leaning over. "I should go. It's time; they're coming for you."

"You're not staying with me?"

She shook her head softly. "No. You don't need me; you're going to be fine."

There was a flutter of material and the scraping of metal on metal as the curtain was pulled. "Mr Grissom," Lisa said brightly on reaching his side, "It's time to wake up." She placed the back of her hand on his brow.

Sara brushed the back of her hand up and down his cheek a few times. "Come on, Gil," she said. "You can't stay with me all day. You've got to wake up now."

"Not yet," he pleaded softly as she moved back. "Sara, wait, please." He smiled. "Let me hold you. Let me hold you close one last time."

Sara kissed him on the cheek and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. "I love you."

"You and me, we're going to be okay, aren't we?" he said softly into her hair.

She pulled back and stared into his eyes, smiling. "My heart belongs to you, Gil. Always. Death can never do us part."

"Mr Grissom, can you hear me?" Lisa asked again, louder this time. "It's time to wake up."

One eye was gently pulled down and then a light shone into it, and then the same was done to the other one, causing Grissom's eyes to flutter open, slowly, reluctantly. The happy smile remained on his lips while he blinked, focusing his dreamy gaze on the nurse bent over him.

"She saw the inscription," he told her earnestly. "She read it!"

Lisa smiled warmly back. "I'm glad you had sweet dreams, Mr Grissom, and a good night's sleep after last night's events. How are you feeling?"

His smile withered instantly and he craned his neck past the nurse's body toward Clara's side. The curtain was pulled back fully, the younger woman's bed empty, stripped bare and his heart sank in his chest as the gloomy reality of his situation came back to him.

"What happened to Clara?" he asked, snapping his head round to Dr Rodriguez stood at the end of his bed studying his chart. He swallowed the tight knot in his throat, dreading the doctor's reply.

The cardiologist must have read the sudden alarm on Grissom's face because he said quickly, "Oh, nothing like that." He smiled warmly. "She just finally got her wish – her own private room." He closed the chart and put it back in its slot. "How's that for care?"

Not in the least taken in by the doctor's apparent casual tone, Grissom sighed and rubbed his eyes. "That bad, huh?"

Dr Rodriguez's expression darkened and he shared a flitting look with Lisa. "I'm afraid so."

"Oh," Grissom said as understanding of the seriousness of Clara's heart condition suddenly occurred. "How long?"

"How long she's been on the list?" Grissom gave a slow nod in reply. "Just under two years," the doctor answered. His expression shifted again and he smiled warmly, perching on the edge of the bed and Grissom knew that this was the extent of what he would be told about Clara. "Ready for the EP testing?"

Grissom rubbed the sleep from his eyes and managed a small smile. "Yeah," he sighed, "I am."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are always greatly appreciated, so don't forget to share your thoughts, feelings and opinions with me, even negative ones. Thanks for reading, as always.


	50. Chapter 50

Warrick's patience was beginning to wear thin and he turned away from sight so as not to be overheard. "Well, there's no way I'm leaving here until this is all over with, McKay's behind bars and Griss up and running," he said into the phone in a loud whisper.

There was a scoff at the other end of the line. "It's always _them_ before me, isn't it?"

Warrick shook his head helplessly and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "How do you mean _always_?" he asked wearily.

Tina's voice raised a notch. "I mean, you love the job, them – the team, your friends, your _boss_ – more than you love me."

"Tina," Warrick defended calmly, "That's not fair. It's hardly-"

"Excuse me," said a woman's voice behind him, interrupting.

Flustered, Warrick spun round, and acknowledged the woman with a quick nod of the head, his expression shifting with surprise. The woman standing in front of him looked tired, slightly haggard, in an old-before-her-time kind of way, her long brown hair lank and needing washing but in his mind there was no doubt as to her identity.

"Listen Tina," he said absently, his gaze fixed on Laura while he motioned he'd be finished shortly, "I got to go."

"That's right," Tina sneered with disbelief. "You do that. Even now you can't take five minutes to talk to me."

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Warrick let out a long breath, turning away from Laura's stare.

"You know what?" Tina went on before he could respond, "I'm going to go to my mother's. When you get back – whenever that is – I won't be there."

"Well, you do that," Warrick spat back before smacking his phone shut and taking a few deep calming breaths.

With no time to think of a detailed game plan, he turned round toward Laura, smiling amiably. Unsure how best to proceed despite Brass's words of caution and unwilling to arouse suspicion if indeed Sara's mother was in league with McKay, he decided to edge his bets and play it cool.

"I'm sorry about that," he said with a casual wave of his cell, which he then proceeded to slip in the back pocket of his jeans. "Unfortunately, access to this room is restricted."

Laura's fraught smile wavered and she pushed her hair out of her face with a trembling hand. "I know. I-I'm Sara's mother," she said hesitantly. "I wasn't able to see her yesterday when she was moved from Vegas but I would like to do it now."

Warrick tensed up, frowning and recoiling slightly as the stale stench of booze hit his nostrils. He moved back closer the door, barring the way completely. "She's already got a visitor, I'm afraid and the rules are very strict."

Disappointment clouded Laura's expression and she let out a long despondent sigh. If she was acting, she was damn good at it, Warrick mused as he watched her closely.

Unexpectedly Laura took a few steps back, eying Warrick with sudden distrust. "You're not wearing a uniform," she stated cautiously. "You're not Reno PD."

"No. I'm-"

"Who are you?" she asked before Warrick had time to finish his sentence. "Are you guarding Sara's door from _me_? Did Matthew put you up to this? Did he tell you to forbid me access?" The more she talked the more anxious she became and consequently, the louder she spoke. "He can't do that-"

Warrick's head was shaking at her words, his hands raised by his side in a friendly manner. "No, Mrs Sidle. No. I'm Warrick Brown from-" He was about to explain who he was when the door to Sara's room opened abruptly, causing both him and Laura to jump back in surprise.

Matthew popped his head round the door. "I thought I heard your voice," he told his mother snidely. "What are you doing here?" he demanded to know in a loud whisper, coming out of the room fully and closing the door after him. "I thought I told you to stay away, that I didn't want you anywhere near Sara."

Taken aback by the vehemence of Matthew's animosity toward his mother, Warrick narrowed his eyes with interest and took a step back, happy to observe the scene unfold and mother and son interact. Maybe Brass was on to something after all.

"I was hoping you'd calmed down some," Laura replied hopefully. "I was hoping to see Sara."

Matthew's eyes widened in disbelief and he moved closer to her face, sniffing the air around her over-exaggeratedly. "Have you been drinking?" he asked loudly. He scoffed as though the answer was obvious and then burst out in a quiet chuckle. "Of course you've been drinking; that's the only way you're able to cope - when you're half-cut." He shook his head over-dramatically, sneering at his mother. "You're making it so easy for me. So easy."

Laura squared her shoulders defiantly. "Can you blame me? After what you said to me last night? After the way you treated me?"

His face lit up suddenly with a chilling smirk. "You're weak," he whispered to her face. "No wonder dad used you as a punch bag."

Warrick didn't yet know all the details of Laura's obvious falling out with her children but he'd heard enough to want to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. He took a step forward. "There's no need to talk to your mother like that, man," he interjected quietly just as Laura raised her hand to her son's face.

"You, stay out of it," Matthew had only just time to snap back before grasping his mother by the wrist before she could strike him. He stared at her unblinkingly, eyes dark and cold while she struggled against him, until he saw the fear in her eyes and she faltered. Then his lips curled in amusement.

Laura glanced at Warrick imploringly before averting her eyes to the ground, surrendering to her son's stronger hold. "Please, Matthew," she pleaded weakly, "let me see her. I have to see her. This," she said waving toward the hospital and Sara's room, "is eating me up inside."

Matthew let go of her wrist and glanced toward Warrick, a look of shame flashing briefly across his eyes, confusing Warrick even more.

"I haven't come here to fight with you," Laura was now saying, her tone regretful and low. "I just want to spend a little more time with her before..."

Calmer now, Matthew shook his head, his expression unreadable. "No."

"Okay," Warrick said, stepping in between mother and son, "this is not taking us anywhere. It's clear you two have your…differences. Why don't you-"

Matthew turned dark narrowed eyes toward the CSI. "You, stay out of it," he told him again, raising his hand toward Warrick's chest. Both men were of similar height and unwilling to inflame the situation further Warrick quietly leaned back. "This has nothing to do with you," Matthew continued quietly, staring at his raised hand as though seeing it for the first time before lowering it self-consciously by his side. "You don't know what- who you're dealing with here." He turned toward his mother. "You don't know what she's capable of. But_ I_ know," he said.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Laura asked tearfully. "What happened to the sweet-natured boy that you used to be?"

"That sweet-natured boy died the day you-the day you…" Matthew threw a flitting look toward Warrick but bit his tongue and turned away, rubbing his face anxiously. It was clear to Warrick that Matthew was despretately trying - if failing - to keep his temper in check. Out of the blue, he turned back round abruptly, his eyes ablaze with pent-up anger, causing Laura to recoil in fear. "Did you think that what you did wouldn't leave its mark on us too? Would leave us unscathed?"

"What about what your father did?" she countered. "What he got away with for so long. Didn't that scathe you?"

"You didn't have to kill him to make it stop!" he shouted angrily.

"I didn't mean to kill him!" Laura defended, looking toward Warrick. "I swear, I didn't mean to," she told the CSI helplessly. "It was self-defence."

Warrick closed his eyes briefly. What a mess! So that was the big secret Brass was protecting for Sara and hadn't been willing to share on the phone. No wonder he wanted to speak with Grissom first. And he thought he'd had a troubled youth – by the sound of things Sara and her brother had it worse, a lot worse.

Warrick didn't know what to think or do. On the one hand, he had Sara's brother fiercely protective of his sister, seemingly albeit misguidedly looking out for her best interests, but with an obvious agenda of his own as regards their mother, and then Laura Sidle, a woman so obviously breaking apart at the seams, eaten up by the consequences of what she had done in the past that she was nowhere near a match for her son. He sighed, Brass's words of caution and suspicion weighing heavily in his mind and yet he couldn't help think that Laura was another victim in this, not the adversary.

"It wasn't an accident though, was it?" Matthew asked nastily, drawing Warrick out of his thoughts.

"No, it wasn't," Laura answered calmly. "You know it wasn't." She turned toward Warrick and stared at him with a mixture of shame and sorrow. "I've done my time," she told him. "I'm not proud but it's all in the past now and no reason to stop me from seeing my daughter."

Matthew shook his head and turned toward Warrick. "She's dangerous, there's no accounting for her actions," he said. "She's not to enter the room."

"No, Matthew you can't do that," Laura said. "You have no right."

"I've every right." He checked his watch. "I haven't time for this right now; I've a call to make back East."

"Actually, legally Mr Sidle, as Sara's next-of-kin your mother has as much right as you to be here and make decisions concerning Sara," said Warrick placatingly.

"Not for much longer," was Matthew's answer. "My lawyer will put a stop to that. With her record and her unstable mind, it's a mere formality."

"But until then," Laura said, "there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Matthew let out a breath and glanced toward Warrick. "Okay," he agreed at last, and Laura closed her eyes, her sigh of relief deep and drawn out, "but I don't want you alone in the room with her."

"If I may," Warrick said, for the first time in agreement with Sara's brother and thinking it a great opportunity to obverse Laura further, "I don't mind watching while Mrs Sidle spends some time with Sara." He smiled faintly at the woman.

This seemed to pacify Sara's brother somewhat. "Fine," he said curtly, "but make the most of it while you can," he told his mother, throwing her a dirty look before turning to address Warrick. "Watch her. Watch her carefully; still waters run deep," he warned, turning on his heels and leaving without another word or a backward glance.

* * *

The loud buzzing of the nurses' station phone could be heard echoing down the corridor and Lisa quickened her pace to answer it. "Cardiac ward, Lisa speaking," she replied, stifling a yawn while scanning her gaze around the place for signs of her colleagues.

"Oh, hello. My call's just been redirected onto your service. I'm trying to locate someone and I'm led to believe he could be a patient on your ward."

"Just a second," Lisa replied distractedly while she logged in onto the hospital database.

"He was admitted a couple of days ago," the woman then said.

"Do you have the patient's name?"

"Certainly. Grissom, Gilbert Grissom."

Lisa frowned and straightened up. "Unless you're a relation I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to-"

"I'm his sister," the voice interrupted with assurance. "Joa-Jo_casta_ Grissom."

Lisa paused. "Mr Grissom is indeed a patient on this ward," she said cautiously.

"Oh, and is everything all right? I mean is he all right?"

"Absolutely. Mr Grissom's on the mend."

"Oh, good. That's great news. I'm delighted."

Movement by the desk caught Lisa's attention and she looked up, silently beckoning Catherine nearer. "Shall I pass on a message?" she asked the caller.

"A message?" There was a pause and then, "Yes, please. Tell dearest Gil that his sister called, she's very much looking forward to seeing him. Very soon."

Lisa finished scribbling the message on the notepad but she didn't have time to ask further details before the caller hung up. Her face creased into a suspicious frown she put the phone back onto the cradle, ripped the sheet she'd written the message on off the pad and looked up toward the waiting CSI.

"What is it?" Catherine asked the nurse anxiously. "Is it about Grissom? Is he out of surgery?"

"No," Lisa replied with a smile and a shake of the head. "Not yet."

"He went in hours ago," Catherine exclaimed checking her watch. "He should be out already. What's taking so long? Have there been complications?"

The nurse shook her head, trying a reassuring smile. "It's not uncommon for these procedures to last up to four hours. The doctors may have decided to go ahead with a repair there and then and in which case we're looking at a couple more hours providing all goes without glitches."

Catherine sighed and nodded grimly, managing a faint thankful smile. She ran a tired hand through her hair, about to turn away when the nurse asked a little hesitantly, "Are you Reno PD?"

Catherine turned round, shaking her head with a puzzled frown. "No. I'm Catherine Willows from the Las Vegas crime lab, a colleague and a very close friend of Grissom's."

"Oh." Lisa smiled blankly, her gaze flitting to the rest of the corridor in search of the police officer assigned to guarding Grissom's room.

"Why are you asking?" Catherine asked, her senses suddenly on high alert.

The nurse glanced at the paper in her hand and then back at Catherine. "You wouldn't know where I can find a Reno PD officer, do you? Only, they're all in plain clothes and I just got a call for Mr Grissom and we were left strict instructions about-"

"You can talk to me," Catherine said quickly, lifting her purse and rummaging inside for her CSI ID card. "Who called Mr Grissom?"

Lisa glanced at the badge and nodded. "Does Mr Grissom have a sister?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," Catherine replied quickly. "Why?"

"That's what I thought," the nurse mused to herself. She sighed. "I had this very strange call just now from his sister. Well, someone who said she was his sister. Except she sounded odd. There was no worry in her voice, no emotion, nothing. It was like she was just going through the motion of finding out how he was, which at first didn't strike me as anything special but when she said she was his sister, it was kind of strange."

"Okay, and what did she say?" Catherine asked, immediately thinking of McKay. The nurse went on to relate her conversation with the woman. "Did she leave a message?" Catherine interrupted before she had time to finish. Lisa silently held the note out to Catherine, who took it and read it quickly before saying, "I think you just had a call from Vegas most wanted." She ran a tired hand over her face and pulled out her glasses from her purse to read the note again. "Didn't she ask about Sara? Sara Sidle in ICU?" she then asked, closing her eyes and kicking herself for her slip.

Lisa shook her head. "Not to me but…she did mention she'd been transferred to this service, most probably from the main desk. She may have asked them or put a call through to intensive care to find out."

Catherine nodded, turning away as she fished her cell out of her pocket, calling Brass. Phone glued to her ear while she waited, she peered round over her shoulder, smiling at Lisa. "Thank you," she told her warmly, "You did the right thing. I'm alerting PD right now."

"Brass."

"Jim, it's me," Catherine said quickly, moving away from the nurses' station toward a quieter spot. "McKay's made contact."

"How do you mean made contact?" the captain demanded to know.

"She called the cardiac ward asking about Grissom's health."

"When?"

"Just now."

"Are you sure it was her?"

"Oh, yeah," Catherine replied with a disbelieving chuckle at McKay's nerve. "I'm sure, alright. She said she was his _sister_."

Brass scoffed. "The bitch's not wasting any time. Is it worth putting a trace on the call?"

"You can try but I don't think it'll lead us to her." She shook her head in disbelief. "She left us - well, him - a message and she wants him – us to know she's coming."

"We expected that," Brass said musingly, "and we'll be waiting. This time she's not getting away."

Catherine picked up on the captain's tone. "What have you got up your sleeve?" she asked but Brass ignored her.

"Let Warrick know," he sid instead. "I'm calling my mate Vickers to let him know too." He paused. "Any chance she knows about Sara's transfer?"

"She didn't say."

Brass sighed. "Okay. Well, let's assume she does anyway but my guess is she wants to finish things with Grissom first."

Catherine nodded her agreement and sighed. "He's…still in surgery. Should I tell him when he comes round?"

There was a pause. "Talk to his doctor first. See how the op went and what he says. Scrap that, Catherine," the detective then said, changing tack. "I've got a few loose ends to tie up here first but then I'm officially on sick leave. I'd rather you waited till I got there before you mentioned anything."

"Sick leave?" Catherine intoned with disbelief.

"It's _paid_ sick leave, what could I say? The sheriff was insistent." He paused. "No, don't tell Grissom anything yet. Tell Warrick, though, he needs to know. I just got off the phone with him."

Catherine narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Anything I need to know?"

Brass chuckled. "I'll just say that he's got his hands full with Sara's family. Not the happy lot we'd expect."

"Families never are, especially in situations like these." Catherine checked her watch, already heading toward the elevators. "Which reminds me; I'm supposed to already be there." She paused, pursing her face in mild annoyance at being kept in the dark. "I'll get him to talk."

Brass laughed. "Good luck with that."

* * *

Grissom looked around the room and sighed on not recognising his immediate surroundings. The procedure had taken much longer than planned and although he had been awake throughout - if a little drowsy – he was feeling drained and sore. "Where am I?" he asked in a whisper as a nurse fussed over him.

She paused and smiled. "You're in the post-op recovery room, Sir."

Grissom licked his lips. "I'm thirsty."

The nurse filled a glass with a little water and easing his head up brought it to his lips. "Just a little sip for now," she cautioned.

Grissom wet his mouth and fell back against the pillow. "When can I go and see Sara?"

"Sara?"

"My- Sara Sidle. She's in intensive care. Dr Rodriguez said I could go and see her after the operation-"

Grissom's speech was slow and laboured and the nurse pressed a gentle hand against his shoulder to stop him from exerting himself. "Not yet," she told him brightly. "You need a least a couple of hours bed rest before you can move - or be moved," she added when Grissom began to protest.

Grissom nodded his head with a sigh.

The nurse resumed doing her checks. "Do you have any discomfort? Any pain?"

Grissom swallowed the dryness in his throat and nodded, flicking his eyes toward his groin area.

"That's to be expected," she comforted cheerily. "They threaded the catheters through the veins in the groin and the local anaesthetic's wearing off. I'll slip you something extra to make you a little more comfortable."

"Don't send me to sleep, please. I'd rather have the pain."

She smiled indulgently. "I'll see what I can do." She moved to a cart and took out a loaded syringe which she injected in his IV drip before adjusting the IV flow feeding the drugs into him. Then she unhooked the call button from the head of the bed and placed it in his good hand. "I won't stray far," she told him with a warm smile. "Just press if you need anything or the pain gets too much."

He gave her a weak nod of the head in reply, his trust in the medical staff absolute and it never occurred to him to question the nurse's actions or the fact that at that moment in time he was at his most vulnerable to an attack by McKay.

"Is someone outside waiting to hear from you?" the nurse then asked gently. "Would you like me to have a word with them?"

Grissom thought of his loved ones, of Warrick and Catherine, wondering where they were, what they were doing, and of Brass and Sara too and shook his head briefly. "No."

"Okay. The doctor will be in to see you shortly."

"Thank you," Grissom said before shutting his eyes, suddenly feeling heavy with fatigue.

Since he couldn't go see Sara just yet, maybe she would come to him. And going against what he'd just told the nurse he took a few slow breaths, allowing sleep to envelop him and take him to a better place. That place in his mind where Sara still breathed unaided, where she felt and was full of life, laughter and tears, and where she loved him senseless. That place where he could love her back, unguarded, unreserved, a place where they could come together despite it all.

Silent tears began to fall, unbidden and yet strangely welcomed, lonely tears which rolled down the side of his face onto the pillow while he wondered whether a life without Sara was worth fighting for and more importantly whether he was strong enough to face a future without her.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this was another long update. I'm laying out the ground work...well, that's what I'm hoping I'm doing anyway. More soon!


	51. Chapter 51

The room was silent except for the soft purring sound of electrical equipment, the blinds pulled down in a such a way as to allow the tiniest rays of sunlight to filter in. The orderly wheeled Grissom in fully, closing the door after them. "Five minutes," she repeated quietly into his ear. He nodded his head, his gaze already fixed on the sleeping form in the bed. Clara was propped up into a half-sitting, half-laying position; her face was pale but relaxed and peaceful giving her an almost content look.

Still weak from surgery himself, Grissom had insisted on visiting Clara before he was taken to see Sara. Guilt tore at his heart because of what had happened and he couldn't help feeling responsible for the precipitated worsening of the young woman's condition. He just wanted – needed – to talk to her, and apologise.

His lips pinched in anguish, the fist of his good hand clenched tightly on his lap, and he watched her a moment in silence before flicking his gaze to the young man sitting by her side. He had his back to Grissom. His and Clara's hands were entwined as he watched her steadfastly and Grissom closed his eyes at the memories this scene conjured up, at the sense of déjà-vu that suddenly tore his heart.

He reopened his eyes, glancing up over his shoulder at the orderly, indicating with a nod toward the bed that he wished to be moved forward. Once at the foot of the bed, he cleared his throat quietly. "Hi," he said in a croak.

The man wiped his face roughly, and visibly startled turned two red-rimmed quizzical eyes toward Grissom.

Grissom tried a smile, his eyes flicking back to Clara.

"Can I help you?" the man asked.

Blinking uncertainly Grissom slowly refocused his gaze. "Yes, I'm…I'm Gil Grissom," he replied at last. "I shared Clara's room before she…" Words caught in his throat and he swallowed the lump, shrugging helplessly. "How is she?"

The younger man's expression darkened. "How do you think?" he replied with hostility.

"Are you Clara's husband?" Grissom asked softly. "Duke?"

Duke seemed surprised that Grissom knew his name but didn't comment and merely gave a brief nod of the head in acquiescence before turning back toward the bed.

"I'm sorry," Grissom said in a whisper his gaze flicking back to Clara. "For what's happened. If I'd known the seriousness of her condition I would have-"

Duke shook his head. "Don't bother," he interrupted, glancing back at Grissom. "I'm more pissed at her. She always takes stupid risks. She doesn't see what it's doing to me and the kids."

Grissom sighed. "Did she wake at all?"

"A little," came the reluctant reply.

"Good. That's good," Grissom said, pausing. "She talked about you, you know? About the kids, how she misses them and you when she's here."

Duke remained silent.

Grissom let out a breath. "I hope she gets better soon."

Duke scoffed. "Yeah. Me too."

The cynicism in the young man's voice didn't go unnoticed and Grissom sighed again. "When she wakes again, can you tell her…" he stopped, searching for the right words, "can you tell her I came by and that I'm sorry? Can you do that for me please?"

Duke acknowledged Grissom's words with a curt nod of his head but refused to make eye contact. Grissom sighed again and looked back over his shoulder at the waiting orderly, indicating that he was ready to leave. She opened the door, wheeling Grissom out silently past the waiting police officer minding Grissom.

As she closed the door after them Grissom asked, "Can you take me to see Sara now please? She's in intensive care."

The orderly paused in hesitation and shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Sir," she said. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"How do you mean you can't do that?" he exclaimed with surprise that soon turned to alarm. "Has something happened to her?"

"No," she reassured with a smile, "it's just that…well, I've been given strict instructions regarding-"

"No," Grissom said with assurance. "Dr Rodriguez said I could go and see Sara after the op. He said-"

"It wasn't him that gave the order, Sir," she said sadly.

"Who then?" Grissom asked and then his eyes darkened ominously. "Let me answer," he said in a scoff before she had time to explain, "My good old _friend_ Captain Brass."

"I'm very sorry, Sir," she said again as she began to push him down the corridor toward his own room.

He placed his hand on the wheel, stopping its movement and turned back over his shoulder. "Take me there," he gritted as quietly as he could.

The orderly watched him hesitantly, clearly debating with herself. "Very well," she said in a reluctant sigh. They took the elevator to the next floor, almost colliding with Brass and Catherine as they exited. The orderly stopped, shrugging at Brass who nodded his head in understanding.

"Gil," the captain said, "I'm sorry to have to do that but it's for your own safety. Both of yours."

Grissom didn't bother with a reply. He merely gave a one-handed turn of the wheel, headed toward the nurses' station on that floor.

"McKay's here," the captain said quickly.

Grissom paused and threw a withering look at Brass who sighed and shared a look with Catherine. "I don't care," he said without emotion.

"Gil…"

"I want to see Sara and I want to do it now."

"It's not a good idea for the two of you to be in the same room," Brass argued quietly. "McKay may try to-"

Ignoring Brass, Grissom glanced toward the orderly, asking, "Which one is her room?"

"I'll take you," Catherine said with a sad smile and a squeeze of his arm. She looked at Brass who nodded his head reluctantly and then took the orderly's place, wheeling him down the corridor.

"I'll be waiting for you out here," Brass told Grissom but the latter didn't acknowledge the captain's words.

Catherine opened the door, gingerly pushing Grissom inside.

"I think I can take it from here," he told her, leaving her no room for negotiation.

Catherine placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Brass was only thinking of your safety," she said, adding something else but he didn't hear what it was. He merely nodded, his eyes already on Sara and gave a slow turn of the wheel toward the bed, as the door shut quietly. His face lit up with a smile on reaching Sara's side and he stretched up rather awkwardly and with a lot of pain to take her hand in his.

"Hey," he told her softly bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss onto it. "I'm sorry it took me so long to come." He brushed her hand over the side of his face, leaning into it and letting out a long breath. "You were right," he said. "The op went well…they managed to fix the damage. No physical exertion for a while and I should be just fine."

"So you're the great Gil Grissom," Matthew said sardonically stepping out of the shadows, causing Grissom to jump and snap his head round in surprise. "The man who couldn't protect my sister from this woman – this McKay – a woman_ you_ failed to keep behind bars."

Grissom shook his head with a sigh and glanced back toward Sara, squeezing her hand warmly. "I don't believe we've met," he said.

"_I_ know who you are," Matthew said.

"Do you?" Grissom retorted calmly.

Matthew remained silent but held Grissom's stare coldly.

"You can drop the act with me," the CSI went on, his voice low and measured. "It won't wash. I've sadly seen it before - all too often. I don't know you, I don't owe you anything and frankly I don't much care for you or your opinion." He paused and watched as Matthew dropped his eyes and moved to stare out of the window. "But I care about Sara," he added quietly, "very much, and I sincerely hope you're here with her best interest at heart and not for revenge or to wage a vendetta against your mother through her."

Matthew scoffed audibly, his head shaking in obvious disbelief but he didn't reply.

Grissom looked at Sara and winked, one side of his mouth curling upward. "So you think she can be saved, do you?"

Matthew turned round abruptly. "How can you possibly know that?"

Grissom stared at Sara, a brow arching. He sighed. "Your mother," he said after a moment.

Matthew shrugged and ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair, turning round again to stare out of the window. "There was this kid near Baltimore last year," he said in a monotonous tone. "It was all over the news. Following a bike accident he was declared brain dead just like Sara – not in a coma, even a non-reversible one, they said he was brain dead. Period. They did all the tests, everything. The doctors were about the wheel him into the OR to harvest his organs when his cousin scraped the sole of his foot with a sharp object. The kid twitched his foot, then a few hours later woke up and now he's more or less living a normal life."

"Medical error or a miracle," Grissom remarked blankly.

Matthew turned and made eye contact. "They can't say for sure. The scans were…unequivocal. Either way, I don't care."

"I've seen Sara's scans, the EEG readings. The PET scan was entirely black; there was no blood flow."

"Same for that kid."

Grissom smiled uneasily. "I've stayed with Sara, touched her, spoken to her and…" he shrugged.

"I called a neurosurgeon from Yale," Matthew cut in, "someone foremost in his field, and asked that he gives a second opinion. I've already mailed a copy of Sara's complete medical file to him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He found it interesting enough to want to come and take a look at Sara himself. He should be here in the next few days."

Grissom looked at Sara helplessly. "What?"

"He said that…when a patient shows the remotest electrical impulse then they should never be classified as brain dead. He said that the criteria for declaring someone brain dead are very strict."

Grissom was shaking his head in disbelief. "Did he say he could save her?"

"No! But he said that there has to be absolutely no evidence of any brain activity for her to be clinically dead."

"Stop!" Grissom exclaimed a little louder than he intended as he finally realised Matthew was referring back to Sunday's random spike in Sara's EEG reading. He took a breath. "I understand what you're doing, I really do and I wish…I wish with all my heart that you're right and that Sara can miraculously wake up and come back to us. But the brain damage she suffered as a consequence of her attack is real and severe and…" his voice cracked, his eyes welling up suddenly, and he brought his hand to his mouth, "…and even if they reconsider their decision at best, they'd only be downgrading her condition to-to a vegetative state as opposed to anything more."

"You don't understand," Matthew insisted. "This doctor is a pioneer in his field. He might be able to operate on her."

"But can he bring her back? Can he bring the Sara we know and love back?"

"It's worth a try!"

"Sara wouldn't want to live trapped in her own body," Grissom said, but you could tell from his change of tone and expression that Matthew's words were having the desired impact. "Sara wouldn't want to live her life like that. For her to be happy it would have to be fully or not at all."

"But isn't it worth a try?" Sara's brother insisted.

Grissom thought about it and then sighed before grudgingly nodding his head with a smile. "You're right; it _is_ worth a try. Of course it's worth a try. And I wish with all my heart that your doctor can perform miracles because that's what this would be." Grissom paused and watched Matthew for a moment, Sara's words repeating in his head. "She thinks you're here because you feel guilty," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Is that why you're doing this? Is that why you're back?"

Sara's brother eyed Grissom strangely and then he shook his head in reply. "You spoke to…Laura," he said. "Did she tell you about…what she did?"

Grissom shook his head. "No. Sara did."

Matthew's face pursed with intrest. "I'm here to fight for Sara. I'm here because I knew our mother wouldn't do it." He paused suddenly and raked a hand through his hair. "But I guess I'm here out of guilt too," he acknowledged with an awkward expression, sinking down into a chair in the corner of the room and hiding his face in his hands. "I've never been able to tell anyone about it," he confessed quite out of the blue, looking up. "Shame is a terrible burden to carry with you and I've never been able to get rid of it. Moving away and cutting off all ties didn't work either. It's almost as though I'd committed the crime myself and as far as I was concerned until two days ago when I got her call my mother was dead to me."

Grissom had expected as much and he nodded his understanding. "Sara was ashamed too," he said, "I think that's why she never spoke of her past. She didn't tell me of it for a very long time."

"She must have trusted you with her life, that's for sure," Matthew remarked. "As well as everything else, I have trust issues. I've also worked hard at not becoming my father. I've never struck a woman but I've come close a couple of times." He shrugged. "Guilt has followed me around all my adult life so yeah, I'd say that's why I'm here."

Grissom smiled to himself as Sara's "Do you think there's a murder gene?" question came back to him. He was about to comment that he wasn't referring to that kind of guilt, but rather the guilt he must have felt - must be feeling - over leaving Sara behind when the door opened quietly and the orderly popped her head in.

"Mr Grissom," she said, "I need to take you back to your ward or Dr Rodriguez will be on the war path."

Grissom turned toward her and nodded. He kissed Sara's hand, replaced it under the bed sheet and smiled at her tenderly through a sudden film of tears. "I got to go," he told her quietly. "I'll come back when I can or…you can always come and see me? I love you." He watched her intently for a while longer before nodding his head at the orderly indicating that he was ready to go.

As she was pushing him out, he stopped her and turned back toward Matthew, saying, "You know your mother only wants what's best for Sara too. If you've seen Sara's medical file you know about her living will. All I'll ask is that if that doctor from Yale agrees with the original diagnosis you respect her wishes. If you love her, as I believe you do, then you'll do that for her."

When Grissom got back to his room Brass was already there waiting for him. The police captain watched as the CSI was settled into bed, waiting until the orderly had left to ask, "So how's the ticker doing?"

Grissom closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "The op went well," he said his tone brusque and unfriendly, keeping his eyes shut. "They were able to repair the damage to my heart without inserting an ICD – or so they hope."

"Okay. Okay," Brass said lifting his hands to his side in surrender. "Let's start again. I'm sorry I shouldn't have tried to-"

"No, you shouldn't have," Grissom snapped. Then he sighed, relenting, knowing that Brass ultimately had his and Sara's best interest at heart. "I'm tired, Jim, and sore. Can't this wait till tomorrow?"

"No, it goddamn well can't. Like I said to you before McKay's back, doesn't catching her matter to you anymore?"

"Of course, it does!" Grissom exclaimed. He rubbed his face, willing himself to keep calm. "You know it does. How do you know she's back?" he asked quietly after a moment.

Brass snorted with disbelief. "She called your ward pretending to be your sister – Jocasta – inquiring about your health. Can you believe the gall that woman has?"

Grissom's lips twitched with a hint of a smile and he shook his head. "The name certainly befits her. But a phone call doesn't place her in Reno."

Brass picked up Grissom's chart, flicked through it quickly and put it back in its slot. "I got CCTV footage of her outside the hospital," he said at last.

"That does," Grissom said. "Does she know about Sara being here?"

"I'm not sure," Brass replied in a sigh, "but we got to assume so." He wandered off toward the window and parted the blinds to take a quick peek outside.

Grissom eyed his friend's to-ings and fro-ings with suspicion. "Who have you got at her door tonight?" he asked.

Brass moved back to the bed and began drumming his fingers on his thighs. "Warrick and a guy from Reno PD."

"Good. Something else is troubling you, Jim, I can tell."

Brass smiled uneasily. "Yeah, there is. And I don't know what to do about it."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: The case I'm referring to through Matthew is the real life case of 21-year-old Zack Dunlap from Oklahoma, who in November 2007 crashed his four-wheel off-road bike and was pronounced brain dead. He is now making a recovery.


	52. Chapter 52

A/N: Possible hanky warning for the final scene. It's meant to be a happy interlude but…I don't know, maybe. You wouldn't believe how many rewrites it suffered.

* * *

Grissom frowned. "How do you mean?"

Brass sighed, his shoulder lifting in uncertainty, increasing Grissom's confusion. He looked away uncomfortably. "You know how you're the closest to a friend – a best friend I got and I trust you, right? I trust your judgement both on and off the field." He sought Grissom's eye.

"Jim, you're scaring me."

"Just hear me out, here, will you? This isn't easy," the captain said with an awkward purse of the face.

"Okay."

"And just the same, Sara's the closest to a real daughter I got and-"

"Come on, Jim. You're not one to beat around the bush. Out with it."

Brass began to pace again. "I am. I am." He paused, groping for the right words. "In the course of my…inquiries into McKay's whereabouts," he finally said, "I uncovered some…sensitive information concerning Sara…Sara's mother." Brass blew out a long breath.

Grissom closed his eyes with a sigh. He'd known it was only a matter of time before the truth of Sara's past came out and it wasn't surprising that Brass had been the one to uncover it.

"Did Sara ever…did she ever confide in you?" the captain ploughed on bravely. "Did she ever tell you about-"

Grissom slowly reopened his eyes, lifting his good hand toward Brass, stopping him mid-flow. He took a breath, nodding his head. "She did. She told me about what her mother did." He suddenly caught Brass's eye, asking with alarm, "Have you told the others?"

Brass smiled uneasily. "No. I wanted to run it by you first."

"Thank you," Grissom said in a sigh. "I appreciate that and I know Sara would too. You know how private she is and it's not something she's comfortable with the others knowing."

Brass nodded his head. "I know."

Grissom's brow creased with suspicion. "I don't see what it's got to do with you, though or why you're bringing it up now," he said. "Laura's done her time and is still paying the price of her actions now, but it's all behind her."

"Well, that's just it. I don't think it is." Brass let out a breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Why didn't Sara keep tabs on her over the years, do you know?"

Brass's mind was easy to read and Grissom clammed up. "That's none of your business."

"Gil, I don't mean any disrespect but I am making it my business."

Grissom's face closed off. "I don't know why Sara didn't want any contact with her. How the hell should I know?" He paused, closing his eyes and taking a much needed breath. "Take you and Ellie, Jim," he went on after a moment, his voice raised. "Isn't that kind of the same thing between the two of you?"

"That's below the belt."

"Is it? You made mistakes when she was young. She didn't forgive you. It doesn't make you a bad guy."

"I never killed anyone in cold blood."

"Nor has Laura, I'm sure of it," Grissom exclaimed loudly. "Listen, I'm not condoning what she did…nor is she asking us to for that matter and the full extent of what it did to Sara we'll never know but…if you think she's involved in Sara's attack you're barking off the wrong tree."

Brass's temper got the better of him. "I don't think I am," he almost shouted. "I think that her and McKay _are_ in it together."

"Do you have any proof to sustain that?" the CSI asked with utter disbelief.

Brass let out a breath, nodding. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do." He watched his friend with sorrow. "They were caught on CCTV together last night leaving O'Malley's bar across from the hospital, here in Reno. They acted all pally, like they knew each other."

Grissom's head was shaking and he rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Don't tell me the thought never crossed your mind, Gil," Brass went on, "I know you and how your mind works. Come on, be straight with me."

"Maybe at first," Grissom conceded reluctantly. "But that was before I knew that McKay was behind it all. McKay never mentioned Laura's name or made any reference to having an accomplice other than the Wallis brothers. She's her own boss, Jim. She answers to no one but herself. You're wrong about Laura, evidence or no evidence."

Brass's brow furrowed at Grissom's words and then he sighed. "Once upon a time the evidence meant everything to you, Gil."

"It still does, but you're not reading it right."

"Okay," said Brass, raising a placating palm toward his friend. "Let's assume you're correct. I'm not saying you are but…for argument's sake let's assume. McKay's threat is still very real. She's coming and soon."

"I agree."

"In this respect, I was thinking-"

"You keep security to a maximum outside Sara's room. Make it visible and obvious she won't get in, that she's got no choice but to come to me. Hell, you stick arrows on the walls directing her to the winning prize if you've got to but she must come to me. Not Sara. She isn't touching Sara again." Grissom repressed a shiver of disgust. "I'll never be able to look at nail polish without thinking of that woman again."

"She might not know Sara's here," Brass argued, a brow rising worryingly at the vehemence of Grissom's diatribe.

"You've changed your tune," Grissom remarked wryly. "I'm not so sure myself. If as you say they met at the bar, Laura could have let it slip involuntarily but I'm more inclined to believe she's got contact here at the hospital…inside knowledge."

Brass pulled a dubious face. "Someone who knows that Diane McCall and Sara are one and the same? I don't think so."

"Think about it; plenty of people know, Jim. Even_ I_ referred to Sara being upstairs to the nurses. Still, I don't want to run the chance that McKay manages to gain access to Sara's room again. You leave her a clear path to get to me and I'll take care of the rest."

"How do you mean you'll take care of the rest? Like you took care of Jimmy Wallis?"

Grissom's face hardened but he didn't reply.

"I can't let you do that, Gil," said Brass, a little more calmly now. "I can't let her come to you. You're a sitting duck here with no way of defending yourself. Let me and my guys catch her, haul her ass in jail and-"

"I don't think it's going to get that far. I don't think we're going to get her alive, Jim. I don't think she'll see the inside of a prison cell ever again. I think – I know – she's in it to the end. She wanted to take me and Sara and she's back here to do just that. Let her come to me, settle her score; I'll settle mine."

Brass eyed his friend with worry. "That's not going to happen. I'm _not_ going to let her get near you or Sara again. That's out of the question," he said tersely. He took a few breaths, closing his eyes tiredly. "Gil," he continued, "we're going to catch McKay. It's only a matter of time. We're watching her old place; we're watching Laura's. I've got men all over this hospital. She won't get through the front door."

"You're right, Jim. She won't. That's because she's smarter than that."

"_We_'re smarter than her."

"I need to see her," Grissom exclaimed suddenly. "Don't you understand that? I _need_ to see her."

Brass paused with shock, the frown creasing his face deep and questioning.

"I need to talk to her," Grissom went on, "or I won't ever be able to get closure. It's my only chance."

Brass let out a long, disbelieving sigh. "I can't let you do that, Gil. She's only going to mess with you, play with your head. You can have your day in court. I don't see what you expect to achieve with-"

"I've got to."

Brass's head was shaking in disbelief. "Listen, Gil, I'm done arguing with you. If as you say she's on a suicide mission then it's far too risky." He opened his hand toward the bed. "You're hardly in a position to defend yourself. She's fast with a syringe, Gil, and she…I can't have your death on my conscience."

"It's my choice."

Brass smiled wryly. "No. It's mine. I'm saying 'no' and that's that."

"It's the only way," Grissom pleaded again. "Nothing's going to happen to me – I won't let it get that far. I just want to-"

"I know, Gil," Brass cut in tensely. "Talk to her. I get the message. Well, that's not good enough."

Grissom was getting more and more distraught. "I want to make her say sorry. I need to hear her say sorry."

"But why?" Brass lamented. "What will it achieve? She won't mean a word of it and it certainly won't bring Sara back."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Grissom almost shouted, his eyes shining with tears. "Don't you think I know that?" he repeated in a small voice before bringing his hand to his face. "Don't you see it's tearing me apart already? That I'm almost half-dead inside?"

Brass shook his head, blinking away the moisture in his own eyes. "I know you are, buddy," he said in a whisper. "I know."

Both men fell silent and Brass turned away awkwardly, shaking his head at the situation.

Unrelenting, Grissom took a breath and said, "You take away security on this floor. Have Warrick dressed as a nurse at the end of the call button."

Brass turned and scoffed. "What?"

"She's never seen him. Never met him or heard him talk. He was never on the original case. He's the only one she doesn't know."

Brass heaved a deep breath. "This is crazy."

"_She_ is crazy," Grissom said quietly. "Crazy is as crazy does," he added under his breath with a sad smile. He looked at his friend pleadingly, watching as the captain inwardly debated the feasibility, the temerity of his plan, his lips pinching in a small smile of relief when Brass finally sighed.

"I want you to stay with Sara at all times," Grissom went on before the captain could protest. "I don't trust anyone else as much as I do you with her safety."

Brass let out another long sigh and lifted both hands up by his side. "Have it your way, Gil. I give up. But – and it's non-negotiable – I want you to wear a wire."

"No. Absolutely not."

Brass couldn't hide the exasperation from his voice. "She's a loaded gun, Gil, a loaded syringe. We've got to be able to know what's happening while she's in here."

"No."

"Why not?" Brass asked with frustration. "What are you scared of? I've heard her before with you. I know what she's like, what she's capable of. I know how she rattles your cage." Grissom averted his gaze to his legs, unable to hold Brass's hard stare. "Level with me, Gil, please. What is it you don't want me to hear?"

The soft knock on his door came at the most opportune time, saving Grissom from a most awkward and reluctant answer. Brass turned away brusquely toward the window as he tried to calm his temper while Grissom bid his caller a quiet "Come in" and Laura popped her head round the door. His gaze flicked warily from her to Brass and he sighed, beckoning Laura in with a wan smile.

"I'm sorry," Laura said, "I can see this is a bad time." She tried a fraught smile directed at Grissom. "I'll come back later."

"Laura, this is Captain Jim Brass of the Las Vegas police department. Jim," he sighed and rubbed a weary hand over his face, "_is_ a good friend of mine-"

"And of Sara's," Brass said pointedly, whipping round.

Laura flicked her gaze to Brass, her smile wavering, her gaze narrowing slightly.

Brass eyed her with an equal amount of distrust. "Sara's…well, she's like a daughter to me," he added, putting evident emphasis on the word daughter.

Laura glanced at Grissom with sorrow. "You told him?"

"No. He found out for himself. He-"

Brass raised his hand, interrupting. "Let me tell the story, please, Gil," he cut in short-temperedly. He gave Laura one of his trademark hard stares, the one he reserves for known villains and hardened criminals, and before Grissom could protest, began telling his tale, without cutting out any of the blunt honesty or sharp sarcasm he is famed for.

By the time he finished, Laura's face was in her hands and she was shaking her head in disbelief. Grissom was watching her with sorrow, expectantly waiting for her to provide a credible explanation. When pleading eyes looked up toward him, her face was as white as a sheet, her lips pinched together to stop them quavering. She swallowed the tightness in her throat as tears finally spilled onto her cheeks.

"It was _her?" _she croaked, her voice still full of incredulity.

"Oh, come on!" Brass exclaimed. "Give it up! Don't pretend you didn't know!"

"I didn't," Laura defended, looking at Grissom. "I swear I didn't. She just came out of nowhere and helped me into a cab."

"And after?" asked Grissom.

"Nothing, I never saw her again. She went on her way."

"I don't believe her," Brass said.

"She played you," Grissom told the captain. "She played us for fools. She knew we'd be watching."

Brass was shaking his head. "I don't believe her. I don't believe you," he told Laura. "That's twice now you come into contact with her. Twice you let her get away."

"Jim, that's enough," Grissom warned sternly. He took a breath, redirecting his gaze at Laura. "Laura," he said, "Reno's PD have got your house under surveillance. You didn't go home last night, did you?"

"No," came the small reply. "I didn't. I went to my friend's house. She works with me at the women's refuge. I stayed there all night."

"What's her name?" Grissom asked softly.

"Karen. Karen McKenzie. She lives off North McCarran Boulevard on Coronado Way."

Grissom nodded his head, remembering the woman he'd spoken to on the phone when he'd first tried to contact Laura at the shelter. "That should be easy enough to verify, shouldn't it, Jim?"

"I was a mess and she got me sober," Laura was now saying. "She got me back on my feet and then in the morning I came back here to see Sara. You've got to believe me, Mr Grissom. You're the only one who believes in me."

Grissom opened his mouth to talk but all that came out was a long despondent sigh and he looked at her helplessly.

"Warrick agrees with me," Brass countered suddenly. "With a past like hers, we can't-"

"Warrick knows?" Grissom exclaimed, aghast with disbelief. "But you said – Jesus, Jim, who else have you told?"

"I didn't tell anyone anything," Brass defended heatedly. "Not until I spoke with you." To Grissom's incredulous face he added, "I didn't tell Warrick anything, I promise. I just told him to be on his guards and keep a close eye on her." He spoke as though Laura wasn't in the room.

"I know how he knows," Laura said quietly. "Matthew told him. This morning, he wouldn't let me see Sara. We argued and-"

"It doesn't matter anyway," Grissom said wearily. "None of it matters anymore." He leaned back against his pillow and rested his eyes.

"What can I do," Laura asked, directing her words to Brass, "that will make you believe me?"

Brass smirked. "Nothing."

"What if I willingly put myself in your custody until you catch McKay? Would that prove to you that I'm innocent?"

"No."

"Jim, this isn't taking us anywhere," Grissom interjected tiredly. He sighed and clenched his eyes shut painfully before reopening them and making eye contact with Brass. "I'm tired; it's been a long day. You just do what you got to do to catch McKay. At the end of the day, I want her caught as much as you do, if not more. I've pleaded my case," he said with a meaningful stare, "and I trust you. I trust you to do what you see fit in the circumstance."

* * *

Despite his best effort at keeping awake, Grissom's eyes kept fluttering shut, his head slowly lolling to the side. Almost immediately he'd startle awake, panting as he blinked and looked around his room, checking his surroundings. The first rays of sunlight were filtering in through the open blinds and yet there were still no signs of McKay. He let out a long dreary sigh, once more forcing open eyelids that demanded nothing more than a short reprieve.

Sara's face suddenly appeared before him and he was looking at her through the flickering light of a fire. He closed his eyes willingly this time, at once transported back in time to the desert, and he smiled in his sleep as recollections flooded him. It was last summer, the week before his birthday. The night was warm, the sky clear, perfect conditions for doing what they liked doing best when sharing a night off, sadly too rare an occurrence. A night spent stargazing, lying on a blanket in each other's arms, naked, sated. Happy.

He exhaled a long breath, his head sinking deeper into the pillow as he finally succumbed to his yearning, his longing, his exhaustion. He could still feel as though she were in his arms now the heat of her skin against his, the clawing of her fingers into his back as she arched up toward him, the softness of her lips on his mouth, his throat, his chest as they made love. He could smell the wood fire on her skin, taste the saltiness of her body on his tongue as she writhed and quavered under his touch, his caresses and kisses becoming bolder as they slowly made one with each other under the starry sky and the watchful eye of a gibbous moon.

Tears of joy prickled behind his eyelids and his body stirred, cruelly awakened by a physical need, a primal desire for Sara he'd thought dead for ever since the attack. And as suddenly as she had appeared in his arms she was now dozing peacefully, nestled snugly in the crook of his shoulder. Her arm was flung across his chest, feather-like fingers indolently teasing through his grey curls, her slow steady breaths blowing tantalisingly hot on his skin. He'd smiled and keeping his eyes on the immensity of the sky above had pressed his lips to the top of her head while stroking a lazy hand back and forth over the soft curve of her breast. How long they remained like this as one with one another he couldn't recall but it wasn't nearly long enough.

"Oh, my God, Gil," she'd awed suddenly, her long slender form scrambling out of his embrace and up to her feet.

Grissom took his eyes off the sky long enough to turn his smile toward her. She was so beautiful, so genuine, so passionate. The flames of the fire danced on her skin, the night breeze blowing her hair about her face and he felt himself harden all over again. She pushed her hair back from her eyes squinting toward the vast expanse of dark Arizonian desert before taking a few hesitant steps forward, mesmerised. A shiver ran through her and she wrapped her arms around her naked body, turning and grinning.

"Look," she whispered, with a backward nod of the head.

He propped himself up on his elbow and followed with his eyes toward where she was indicating.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked with wonderment.

He smiled and got up before joining her side and wrapping the blanket over their shoulders. "You know about cacti?"

She shrugged. "Greg gave me this…book for Christmas a few years back – it's the only plant I seem to be able to keep." She paused, turning toward him. "It's a night blooming cereus, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It certainly looks like one. From the Hylocereus genus but sometimes called the midnight cactus; most of the time an ordinary, unremarkable little plant but one night a year at around midnight it blooms and nobody knows why and nobody knows when." He pulled her closer under the blanket, feeling her goose bumps on his skin and pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. She smiled expectantly, waiting for him to continue his explanation. "And when it does," he said catching her eye, "it's the most heart-stoppingly beautiful thing you ever saw."

They held each other's gaze for a moment and Grissom tried to communicate all the still unspoken love he felt for her. Her face suddenly broke into a wide grin of pleasure and she stroked the side of his face with a gentle hand. "I wish I'd brought my camera," she said. "I wish we could capture this moment and keep it forever."

"You don't need a camera to capture this, Sara," he'd whispered back. "Close your eyes and it's there in front of you, simple beauty for you to stare at every day for ever."

Still cupping his cheek with her hand, Sara had watched him with a strange expression on her face and he'd smiled, lifting a shoulder self-consciously. "Do you know what happens to it after it blooms?" she had asked and it was clear she already knew the answer.

He'd nodded, his face pursing sorrowfully. "It dies."

She'd lifted her other hand, framing his face, soft lips meeting his in a slow languorous kiss and now, alone in the hospital room, he relaxed into the moment, his lips parting welcomingly, his body responding in the most natural way.

Sara's soft, tentative lips suddenly became hard and urgent and cold. Her hands generally so gentle and warm turned rough and stiff as they stroked through his tousled curls, around the hollow of his eyes, down to his cheek, to his parted mouth.

He flinched abruptly, recoiling with disgust at the touch.

"Hello, Angel," her gravelly voice purred sweetly into his ear.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are simply wonderful and a tremendous source of encouragement and inspiration. Please, leave one. Share your thoughts and opinions about the chapter or the story even; let me know who's (still) out there reading. And thank you, as always.


	53. Chapter 53

"You been married long?" Lisa asked Warrick as she set his cup of coffee down on the desk in front of him.

"Just a few months," Warrick replied with a tired smile, nodding his thanks for the coffee. He took a much needed sip and looked at the ring on his finger. "Her name's Tina. She's a nurse at Desert Palm's hospital back in Veg-" his words trailed off suddenly, his attention veering toward the orderly hurrying down the corridor with an empty wheelchair.

"It's her," he told Lisa quickly, his senses once again on full alert. He glanced toward the Reno PD officer dressed as a cleaner mopping the floor, and catching his eye, nodded his signal before turning his attention to CCTV monitor concealed behind the nurse's station while calling Brass.

"Jim?" Warrick said as soon as Brass picked up his cell. "McKay's just showed up, dressed as an orderly. She's got a wheelchair with her."

"How the hell did she get in without showing up on the CCTV?" Brass exclaimed angrily.

"She's got to have someone on the inside. That's the only way." Warrick watched as McKay checked over her shoulder, winked brazenly at the camera and entered Grissom's room. "She's just gone inside now," the CSI relayed to Brass.

"Everything's in place?"

"Yep. Just waiting for his word."

"Okay. Good."

"I don't like what we're doing, Jim. Grissom's not thinking straight. What if he doesn't call for backup?"

There was a long pause before Brass replied. "You give him his ten minutes with her as we agreed, then you go in and take her out." He stopped and sighed. "Listen, Rick, you sure you're going to be okay? You want me to send one of my guys down?"

"No. If you're right about Laura..." Warrick sighed and picked up the headset to listen into Grissom's room. "No. You stay with Sara. I got Griss covered."

* * *

"Hello, Angel," her gravelly voice purred sweetly into his ear.

Her lips lingered on his cheek, hot musky breath blowing down his neck sending shivers down his spine. His heartbeat quickened at the violation, his stomach churning at the thought that he could have mistaken McKay's touch for Sara's and he swallowed hard to keep the revulsion her touch caused from rising to his throat. His eyes snapped open, cold and wide and angry that he'd been caught unawares, meeting her wicked gaze dead on.

Smiling brightly she winked at him. "Ain't your little heart beating that much faster for seeing me, huh?" she whispered playfully. Her face was a breath away from his, the stale tobacco smell permeating his nostrils and the air all around, nauseating.

Grissom showed no fear in his stare, just utter disgust and loathing, and an overpowering rage for revenge. He wasn't after an apology, even Brass knew that. He wanted revenge, justice for Sara and as crazy as it sounded, he realised now was willing to give his life for it. Since his conversation with the detective, he'd thought about little else than this final encounter, his only chance for retribution, but he wasn't prepared for the crushing feelings, the murderous thoughts unleashed by her presence. He wanted to wipe the smirk off her face and rip her vociferous tongue out. But more than that, he wanted to cut her finger off and reclaim what was rightly his and Sara's.

McKay must have read his intentions because she pulled back from his face sharply, leaning on his broken arm for leverage to get back in an upright position. She pressed down hard, twisting his shoulder back with painstaking efficiency, reminiscent of the way she would restrain mental patients and Grissom couldn't help the muffled growl of pain that escaped his lips. He bit down hard and took a few heavy breaths through his nose to ride the pain.

Clearly satisfied that she had the upper hand McKay released the pressure on his shoulder and slid her hand down over the bedcovers to his groin area. Her eyes twinkled with giddy mischief and held his all the while, gauging for his reaction, her smile turning lustful as she roughly cupped her hand over his privates.

"That was quite the _little_ welcome you had for me just then," she said, licking her lips suggestively.

His breath hitched as his eyes darkened menacingly. His left hand flew down to her wrist, ensnaring it with so much force that McKay had no choice but to release him. He twisted her hand up toward him, squeezing her wrist so tightly that he could feel blood begin to seep through as his nails dug into her skin. The smug grin vanished, her face contorting with pain and she let out a long frustrated and angry growl. She used her other hand to try to prise his fingers off but his grip was vice-like, penetrating and after a moment of struggle she had no choice but to surrender. Still holding her gaze, he slowly released his grip on her wrist but not his hold on her hand while his fingers groped blindly around hers, feeling for Sara's ring.

McKay's face lit up with unexpected delight and she slipped her other hand in her pants pocket, fishing it out Sara's ring. "Is this what you're looking for?" she asked, dangling the ring in front of his face teasingly.

Grissom let go of her hand and made a swipe at the ring but McKay skipped back just far enough to be out of reach.

"Just not fast enough," she teased, lifting the ring to his eye line, smiling. "Death can never do us part," she read musingly. "In sickness and in death?" she wondered aloud with an arch of her brow. She looked up and met his gaze, waiting for him to take the bait.

He didn't.

"Are you going to propose to her?" she was now asking. "Is that it? Is that why you want the ring back so much?" She feigned a look of sorrow. "Because you know, I tried it on her and it fits her finger perfectly. It's like Cinderella's glass slipper." She slipped the ring on her own ring finger and rotated it until it sat perfectly square. "It's just a tad too loose for me." She met his furious gaze with a wicked smile, flexed her fingers while rubbing her sore wrist with her other hand. "You have a surprisingly strong grip for someone on so much pain medication," she mused with a pout.

"I want it back."

McKay's brow rose. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. It's mine and I want it back."

"Why would I do that? Why would I willingly give it back to you? What do you have to offer in exchange for this ring, huh?"

"My life, if that's what it takes."

McKay burst out in a loud chuckle. "How noble of you but that's a bit of a leap, isn't it? You'd sacrifice yourself so Sara could have a ring on her finger?" She shook her head with amusement. "Some kind of martyr? You're willing to trade your life to show your love for Sara, is that it?" The disbelief was evident in her tone. "Isn't it all a bit late for that?"

"You wouldn't know love if it hit you in the face."

That wiped the smirk off her lips. "She's as good as dead anyway. She doesn't need it."

Grissom made himself hold McKay's eyes even though her words cut him like a knife. "I'm going to get it back and that's a promise, even if I have to kill you with my bare hands."

She eyed him with a strange kind of admiration. "_Hand_," she corrected with a nod toward his cast. "And your left one, at that." She smiled. "But I can see you mean it. And I'm sure under different circumstances you'd be a good match."

She kept her body tantalisingly close to the bed but just far enough to be out of reach and he couldn't be sure his legs would bear his weight if he launched an attack now. She watched him for a moment longer and then pursed her face thoughtfully. "You want her to do good in death. You want her death not to be in vain. She's on the organ donation list. Am I getting warmer?" She looked into his eyes and saw the truth of her words. "Remember I read her chart. And yours."

Grissom glanced down toward the end of the bed but his medical chart had been removed, as had all his personal effects. The room had been stripped bare of all electrical and medical equipment, of anything that could be used as a weapon by McKay; even the partition curtain was gone. There was no IV line or cannula attached to his arm to facilitate the injection of drugs, even the clear nose tubing providing oxygen had been removed lest it was used for strangulation. And of course, Warrick was a heartbeat away, listening in and ready to pounce as soon as Grissom said the word.

"How?" he finally asked with narrowed eyes. Could Brass have been right about Laura after all?

McKay heaved a bored sigh. "I had a little help from a friend but you knew that already." Her hands were shaking and she held them up in front of her, turning them palm up. "I really could do with a smoke, right about now. Lack of tobacco makes me real edgy – unpredictable, almost unstable."

"A dead man's last wish is usually for a cigarette," he remarked.

"I didn't know you smoked."

Grissom couldn't help smirk at her gall. They stared in each other's eyes for a moment, neither willing to back down. McKay was the first one to break the silence, smoothing down the wrinkles of her uniform. "You like the uniform?" she asked, giving him a twirl.

Grissom didn't bother with a reply.

She shrugged and flicked her long auburn hair back from her face before moving away from the bed and casting a suspicious look around the room. Then she turned back round toward him showing discoloured teeth as she grinned. "You don't seem surprised to see me. I expect you got my message?"

"You're quite the predictable woman,_ Jocasta_."

"You like my nom de guerre?" she asked him, obviously pleased with herself.

Grissom smiled faintly. If he wasn't at such a disadvantage he'd almost be enjoying himself. "Oedipus's mother killed herself, in the end."

McKay dipped her head in acquiescence. "She did. And so will I, in time. Soon."

There was a gleam in her eyes and Grissom knew she was speaking the truth of her own demise.

"You're very calm, very composed," she went on. "Doesn't my presence here alarm you just a little?"

"You don't scare me."

McKay mimed a look of surprise. "I should."

He shook his head in the negative. "I wanted you here. You walked straight into my trap."

She chuckled with amusement. "Did you think I wouldn't notice the tall black guy trying to look inconspicuous?" She smirked. "The bulge on his hip under the nurse's uniform stood out a little. Tasty tough," she added with a wink. "Very tasty." She sobered up quickly and sighed, conceding Grissom's original point with a nod of the head. "It's a risk I was willing to take. I figure Captain Brass'll storm the place when we're done talking?"

"That's the plan."

"I'm surprised he agreed to this little…rendez-vous. It's quite a risk you're taking with your life, almost tantamount to suicide when you think about it." Before he could reply, she added, "I couldn't resist a little grope and I took the liberty to feel you up before you…" she laughed, "woke." Repulsion filled Grissom's face and she smiled. "I'm glad to see that neither your injuries nor the subsequent operation took away any of your…ardour but I was surprised at the lack of a concealed _weapon_ to defend yourself. Of course, you could always use your plaster cast to bash me over the head with – that is, if you're quick enough, of course."

Grissom remained silent, happy to wait until she came closer to make his move.

She took on a thoughtful expression, her eyes scanning all around the room. "No video camera or obvious listening devices either. I was rather looking forward to our dear old friend eavesdropping in our little…_exchange_," she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. "You know how perversion turns me on."

"How do you know that's not what's going down as we speak?" Grissom challenged.

McKay shrugged mildly. "You're a private man, Gil. You don't want your business discussed in public, recorded on a tape for all to hear and sneer at. It's just you and me in here and that's how I like it."

"One last tête-à-tête?"

She nodded her reply. "Captain Brass may think he's got me contained in here but let's not be mistaken: I'm in charge."

"It's not too late to give yourself up."

McKay erupted in a hearty fit of laughter. "Why would I do that? So I can spend the rest of my life in a six by nine feet cell with a bunch of hardened bitter lesbians?"

"I would have thought it your place of choice."

"You're funny." She swallowed, her face turning serious. "Do you know what day it is today?"

McKay's face had taken a turn Grissom didn't much care for and he frowned as he thought about her question but drawing a blank he shook his head.

She smiled uneasily. "It's exactly a year to the day since you took my prince, my Adam from me. Do you remember?"

Grissom averted his gaze downward to hide his pain. Of course, he remembered. How could he ever forget the sight of McKay's son holding a pottery shard to Sara's throat? How could he ever forget the overwhelming helplessness, the powerlessness, the abject terror that had filled him?

McKay pounced on Grissom, grabbing him by the chin and forcefully tilting his head up until he had no choice but to stare at her. Her eyes were hard and cold. "Do you remember?" she repeated into his face trough gritted teeth.

"Yes," he gritted back, jerking his head free of her grasp. "I remember." He reached out his hand to her throat but his movement was too sluggish. McKay moved out of the way and he missed. He looked at his hand with puzzlement and clenched it into a fist to stop it trembling. His eyes blurred and he blinked uncertainly, shaking his head from side to side to clear the sudden fog in his mind. When he eventually reopened his eyes, he found McKay at the end of the bed frantically rummaging inside her purse.

"Shit," she muttered to herself. "I'm out of smokes." She lifted her eyes to his and resumed her explication. "It's only fitting that on the anniversary of me losing Adam, you should lose Sara forever too."

Grissom watched her warily. Something had shifted in her demeanour. Suddenly she looked edgy and restless; her moves were becoming more erratic and he noticed the gleam of perspiration on her face. "You should have stayed in Vegas," he said, easing a look toward the top of his plaster cast while she busied herself with the purse. "Sara's not here."

She wiped her brow with a heavy hand. "Why bother with the pretence? You already know I know Sara's here. You've made it so easy for me. Both under the same roof…it's a dream come true."

"You'll never gain access to her room." Grissom's vision blurred again and he blinked a few times to clear it.

She laughed and took out a compact mirror and her lipstick from her purse. Her hands were shaking. "My original plan was simple. I'd take Sara from you and let you watch her die a slow, painful death. And I'd have watched you, while you suffered. I'd have watched you fall apart like I did until you begged me to spare her. Trade your life for hers. Take you instead. You see where I'm going with this?" she asked quietly.

Grissom rubbed his eyes vigorously. "You'll never get access."

She flipped the compact open and keeping one eye on him and the other on her face, touched up her hair. "Oh, I will. With your help, I will."

"No. Never. I'd rather die than…"

"Oh, you will," she said, uncapping and twisting the lipstick up. She paused and smiled. "We're going to go out together in a bang. You, me and Sara – straight to hell. But enough chitchat for now," she added while Grissom watched bleary-eyed as shaky hands clumsily applied a fresh coat of Manhunt Red to her lips. "This is all very well but I'm getting a little restless."

Grissom couldn't take his eyes off her lips while she talked. The badly applied rouge danced on her face acting like the proverbial red cloth in front of a bull. Images of McKay violating Sara's body, of her smearing lipstick on her perfect lips and painting her finger and toenails flashed in front of him. The Manhunt red of McKay's lips merged with the crimson red of Sara's injuries and he scrunched his eyes shut. He had to be hallucinating. He felt woozy and light-headed and sick to his stomach, the loud drumming of his heart in his ears driving him crazy, and realising that McKay had the better of him and had somehow drugged him without his knowing, he raised sorrowful eyes toward her.

She was smiling with smug pleasure. "Not long now," she told him as she quickly tossed her mirror and lipstick inside her bag. She took out a syringe and moved toward the door, cupping her ear to it.

Grissom had made a terrible miscalculation. He had to alert Warrick and soon. But first, he had to make sure he was in a position to defend himself in case McKay used him as hostage to escape. He concentrated all his senses and slowly inched his left hand to his plaster cast, his bleary eyes on McKay the whole time. He felt for the small scalpel he had hidden inside the cast and slipped it out before concealing it in the folds of the bedcovers.

McKay was back in a flash, pushing a wheelchair. "I need you to swing your legs to the edge of the bed for me," she said in her best caring nurse's voice.

Grissom blinked uncertainly, clenching his eyes shut at the two McKays and two wheelchairs suddenly dancing in front of him. "You've slipped me something," he said angrily.

"Sorry, Angel," McKay replied in a whisper, "you should have known I never play fair." She took his face in both her hands and smacked a kiss to his lips before he had time to twist his face away. "We shared more than a kiss before," she told him meaningfully and that's when he realised that she displayed the same symptoms he did and that whatever drug she'd given him she'd taken herself.

"Just a little something to take the edge off and make you more amenable to my demands," she then explained before waving the loaded syringe she held in her hand meaningfully. "Come on, be a good little boy for me and swing your legs to the side. I don't want to have to use this just yet."

Grissom grasped the scalpel with his left hand, keeping it concealed while he shuffled his legs to the edge of the bed, feigning compliance. "I'm already a dead man walking anyway," he said loudly.

Warrick's loud shouts of "LVPD!" and "McKay, drop your weapon!" immediately resonated in through the heavy door that was being battered down and McKay turned toward it with surprise. Taking advantage of the disruption, Grissom took a frenzied swipe at her with the scalpel and swung his plaster cast down hard on her arm, sending the syringe flying toward the front of the room, in effect disarming her.

McKay screamed out in pain, leaping out of the way as the scalpel sliced her cheek, and brought her hand to her face. Blood was seeping through her fingers and she looked at her hand and then at Grissom with incredulity. Her gaze turned feral, almost demonic and at that moment Grissom knew she was going to kill. "You're a dead man," she snarled furiously as she frantically scrambled for the syringe. "A dead man!" She picked it up and turned toward Grissom.

At that same moment the door burst open and Grissom's shouts of warning came far too late. Her actions fuelled by a mixture of drugs and madness, McKay launched herself forward, screaming like a lunatic as she charged. She blindly jabbed the needle into the first officer to come flying in and depressed the plunger into his neck before he'd even fully entered the room. He never stood a chance and sadly for Grissom watching through a film of blurry pictures it all happened in agonisingly slow motion.

Tears filled his eyes. "Oh, dear God, Warrick. No!"

* * *

Tbc.


	54. Chapter 54

A/N: After finishing this chapter, I asked my husband the question: If I was held at gunpoint would you trade your life for mine?

After scoffing at the likelihood of such a thing happening in the UK – London maybe but not Norwich, in rural Norfolk (we're more likely to get stabbed, sadly) – he had to think really hard about it and never really gave me a straightforward answer. When I asked the same question about our children, he said "yes" immediately. It gave me pause and I think that sums up nicely why we love Grissom so much.

Anyway, here's the next update. I hope you like it. I apologise in advance for the ending. Okay, well, I don't…you shouldn't have called me EVIL! ;-)

* * *

Warrick brought his left hand to his neck and pulled the syringe out. Eyes wide with horror and incredulity, he took an unsteady step forward into the room, and then another, aimed his gun toward McKay and managed to fire a round into her before slowly crumpling to his knees. Grissom watched helplessly as Warrick made eye contact with him, mouthing the words "I'm sorry," as he fell to the ground and the gun dropped limply out of his hand onto the tiled floor.

Grissom gasped with horror as frantic shouts of "Officer down!" filtered to his ears. Tears filled his eyes and he pushed himself off the bed onto shaky feet, managing to take a few steps forward but the room began to spin madly around him and he could go no further.

With nothing to lose, McKay had scrambled for the gun. Her shoulder bled heavily from where Warrick had shot her but using both her hands she managed to point and shoot blindly toward the open doorway at the two Reno PD officers taking cover on either side of it. She used the lull to launch herself forward, crashing against the wall behind the open door, and slid to the ground into a sitting position, making it impossible for the officers outside to get a clear shot at her without entering the room. Immediately, she trained the gun on Grissom.

"Hold your fire!" Grissom shouted toward the door. Still clutching the bloodied scalpel he'd used to slash McKay's face, he held out his hand to grab onto the wheelchair for support while closing his eyes to quell the dizziness. "Hold your fire," he shouted again at the door before turning to address McKay. He swallowed the tightness in his throat, his eyes flicking to the trembling gun aimed at his chest. "McKay, please, that's enough," he said in a pleading voice. "You've shed enough blood. Give yourself up."

At that moment in time, all he cared about was getting to Warrick and if McKay chose to shoot him, then so be it. His eyes locked to hers as he communicated his intentions and he took a few slow, shuffling steps toward Warrick's body spread eagle in front of the door and blocking a way out. His legs throbbed with lancing pain but he managed to stoop down and stared at Warrick through a film of tears for an instant before lovingly cupping the palm of his hand to his face and lowering trembling fingers to the younger man's throat near the syringe puncture mark. Feeling a pulse, he heaved and exhaled a long breath of relief and glanced toward McKay.

She hadn't moved from her position against the wall. She was using the open door as shield, both hands holding the gun firmly in his direction. Despite his bleariness, Grissom was almost certain that Warrick had got a shot in her left shoulder. Her breath was slow and laboured, her chest heaving painfully with each intake of air but despite her obvious pain and discomfort her eyes were still wide and evil.

He averted his eyes to Warrick. "It's okay, Warrick. I got you," he murmured, holding Warrick's head to him. "I got you, son. I'm sorry."

"Pull him in," he heard McKay instruct curtly. He looked up with confusion. "Pull him in," she repeated angrily with a wave of the gun, "or I finish him with a bullet in the head."

Grissom turned toward the open doorway, making eye contact with an officer poking his head round and dragged Warrick's body inside the room by the shoulder as best he could. McKay kicked the door shut after him.

"Sir?" came a loud voice through the door. "This is Sergeant Vickers from Reno PD. What's your status?"

Grissom looked at Warrick and then at McKay and with nothing left to lose turned back toward the door. He licked his lips, replying in a fraught voice, "McKay's got me at gunpoint."

"Shut up!" McKay snarled.

"She's hurt but lucid," Grissom went on, speaking over her, his words slow and slurred. "Warrick's down. He's hurt bad, but I think I feel a faint pulse."

McKay waved the gun in his direction. "I said, shut up! Or I shoot you. And him!"

"She injected him with…_something_," Grissom continued, calling her bluff. He shook his head, showing his frustration at the confusion in his mind. "He's out but still breathing. Please get some-"

Out of the blue, McKay shot a round in the ceiling, causing Grissom's heart to leap out of his chest and he cowered down, shielding Warrick's body with his. "Enough," she shouted. "Next one goes straight through your heart."

Grissom turned back toward McKay and shrugged his indifference. "I'm a dead man anyway. What difference does it make whether you kill me now or later?" He paused long enough to catch his breath. "You've won," he stated dejectedly. "Please, let them get help for Warrick."

Grissom was struggling to stay on his feet and conscious, as the drug he'd ingested really began to take hold. He felt woozy, as in a heavy state of drunkenness, and his eyes drifted shut by themselves and he swayed on the spot for a moment before automatically reaching back to cushion his fall. "Tell me what's in the syringe?" he asked pleadingly, reopening heavy eyes weakly. He lifted Warrick's head onto his lap and began gently stroking his face. "Please, what have you injected him with?" he asked again. "They need to know."

"It's too late for him," she said in a rasped whisper. "He's gone."

"No," Grissom insisted his voice rising with distress. "It's _not_ too late. He's still got a pulse!" He scrunched his eyes shut at the sudden dizzy spell before slowly refocusing bleary eyes on McKay. She too was blinking her eyes uncertainly, sweat and blood running down her face. "Please, let them take him out," he tried again, hoping that her growing state of confusion would make her relent. "He's got nothing to do with this." He waved the scalpel between the two of them. "He's got nothing to do with us and what happened to Adam."

McKay's head was shaking vigorously. "No. No, no, no," she cried out with incredulity. "Not what happened to Adam but what you _did_ to Adam," she corrected angrily, waving the gun menacingly toward him.

Grissom automatically put his hands up and realised for the first time he was still clutching the scalpel. He looked at his left hand, covered with McKay's blood and swallowed. "You're right," he said in a quiet voice. "What _I_ did to Adam."

"No," McKay said emphatically. "What you and _Sara_ did to Adam."

"Yes," he snapped with frustration, aware that the longer Warrick was left untreated the more chances he would have to die. "This is just between you and me, and Sara," he added in a whisper. "No one else."

McKay eyed him with a certain admiration for a moment and then smiled. "You care about him too, don't you?" she said as it suddenly occurred to her that Warrick wasn't just another police officer but someone dear to Grissom.

"Yes," he said with no hesitation, making eye contact. "I love Warrick as my son and now that you've taken him away from me like I took Adam from you we're even. I beg you, please, let them take him out."

"Why would I do that?" she said with a strange smile, her head shaking. "I can't run the risk. They'd try to take me out." She perked up suddenly. "Where is Brass anyway?" she asked with a frown toward the door. "I don't like this. It's too quiet."

It _was_ quiet outside. "I swear I won't let them," Grissom said. "You can use me as hostage. They won't be able to get a shot at you without killing me."

McKay's head was shaking at his words and keeping the gun loosely trained on Grissom she leaned back against the wall and pushed herself up to her feet with a grunt. "No. That's not what's going to happen," she grumbled through the pain. "He's just going to have to be another casualty. Interest for your repayment."

Grissom averted his eyes to Warrick's limp body. Warrick needed help and he needed it now, or he didn't stance a chance. "What if I agree to take you to Sara, in exchange for his life? What if-" Tears fell down his cheeks and he began a slow rocking motion as he hugged Warrick to his stomach, looking up toward McKay. "What if I _trade _mine and Sara's life for Warrick's?"

This gave McKay pause. "You'd do that? You'd trade your life for a dead man?" she asked, the surprise evident in her voice.

"Yes," he replied without a trace of doubt. "I would."

Wouldn't every parent for their child? Every husband for his wife? he wanted to add. He began to rise to his feet with great difficulty, holding on to the edge of the bed for support and tried to hold her gaze. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for very much longer. His legs were weak and hurting like hell, shaking with the strain of standing up but he would push through the pain. He could hear the loud palpitations of his heart in his ears. His head was light, continuously spinning. He felt sick and hot and sweaty, and more and more drowsy as time went on. And sadly, even in his state of disarray these were symptoms he recognised only too well.

And symptoms that McKay shared. Maybe he could hold out a little longer until they both lost consciousness and PD stormed the room. But where did that leave Warrick? Grissom closed his eyes in a vain effort to gather his muddled thoughts and took a moment to catch his breath while he pondered his options. In his mind though, he had no choice. At that moment in time, Warrick came first. He slowly reopened his eyes and raised the scalpel to McKay's eye line before gently letting it fall to the ground.

"I'm done," he said quietly. "I'm done fighting with you." He shrugged helplessly and licked the salt off his lips. "You've won; you're the better man. I beg you with my life, please, let Warrick go."

McKay was holding her left arm up against her chest in an imaginary sling and she used her right hand, the one holding the gun to rub her face and eyes. Suddenly she seemed to have taken a turn for the worse as though she was having as hard a time coping with the drugs, her worsening state no doubt precipitated by her blood loss.

"What's the best you're looking at now anyway?" he asked, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. "You're right, Brass _is_ planning something or he'd have been in here like a shot. We can stay here until we both lose consciousness and die – and we will." He smiled sadly and glanced at Warrick. "You gave us both GHB, didn't you? That, coupled with your injuries and my pain meds and…" He shrugged the rest of the sentence off, hoping that McKay wouldn't call his bluff because despite professing to the contrary he knew she was bearing up much better than him.

"Shut up," McKay snapped suddenly. She rubbed her face again. "I can't think. Stop your noise, I can't think!"

"This is it," he continued quietly. "The end of the road for you and me."

"Shut up," she snarled, moving forward toward him and aiming the gun square between his eyes. "Shut up and get in the chair."

Grissom glanced at Warrick and nodded, only too happy to oblige. Holding on to the side of the bed he shuffled to the wheelchair and collapsed into it with a strange sense of relief. McKay moved behind the chair and feeling the muzzle of Warrick's gun pressing hard against his right temple he closed his eyes wearily.

"If you dare try something stupid, I put a hole in your head," she said. And he had no reasons to doubt her.

McKay squared up her shoulders with a wince and touched up her hair. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and called loudly. "Captain Brass? Brass?" There was no response, only the low humdrum of hushed voices. "Don't try to buy yourself time," she said. "I know you're out there. Captain Brass," she intoned sweetly.

"Steady. Steady, now McKay," came Brass's breathless voice on the other side of the door.

"Am I giving you the run-around?" she asked with laughter in her voice. "You sound unusually flustered."

"I'm here. I'm good." There was a pause and it was clear that despite his cheerful tone Brass was nowhere near being good. "You've had your fun?" he then asked. "You're ready to come out with your hands above your head yet?"

McKay gave out an overly cheery chuckle that turned into a sputtering cough.

"Oh, dear, that doesn't sound good," Brass said in his usual sarcastic tone. "You ought to have that checked out. God knows you're in the right place."

"Warrick's dead," she said, cutting in briskly, "and our dear friend Grissom wants to see his beloved Sara one last time before he dies."

"That's not going to happen, McKay."

"Oh, yes it is," she replied coldly. She pushed Grissom's head with the muzzle of the gun but Grissom was unresponsive. "He's almost dead anyway. Don't you want to grant a dying man one final wish?"

"Gil? Gil, you're alright, buddy?" Brass asked, badly concealing his sudden panic. "Only you're not saying much."

Grissom was losing his battle against the GHB and he could only manage a quiet grumble in reply.

"I didn't take you for a dithering man," McKay told Brass. "Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Hickory, dickory, dock. The mouse ran up the –"

"All right," Brass snapped short-temperedly. "All right. I get the picture."

"Good." McKay clenched her eyes shut and shook her head briskly. "You're going to tell your men to stand down and…have a path cleared to the elevator. We're taking a trip."

There was a pause and then Brass was heard to give his orders. "Okay, McKay," he said. "You can come out now."

"Open, sesame," she said, jabbing the muzzle of the gun flush against Grissom's temple. "And don't try anything stupid or he's a dead man."

The door was slowly pushed open, revealing Brass with his hands up in the air. The crooked grin on McKay's bloodied face was evil, the madness in her eyes terrifying. His breath caught and he swallowed as he took in the scene with a glance, McKay's injured state, Warrick's body on the floor, his eyes resting on a semi-conscious Grissom for a moment longer. He let out a long sigh and made eye-contact with McKay.

"Jesus, what have you done?" he gasped.

"Put your gun away," she said, quieter now, motioning her head to the gun in his raised right hand.

Brass nodded and reholstered his gun with slow, measured moves before bringing his hands back up to his sides.

"You asked your men to stand down?"

Brass glanced up and down the corridor before giving a dejected nod of the head in reply.

"Step back and make sure the elevator's waiting. We're going up one floor. And no funny business or he gets it in the head. Understood?"

Grissom in a moment of lucidity, opened heavy-lidded, clouded eyes and shook his head imploringly at his friend.

Brass stared at Grissom and then at McKay, said, "No funny business. You got my word," and disappeared out of sight.

Grissom scrunched his eyes shut at Brass's words, causing unshed tears to fall and McKay began advancing forward. Holding the gun with one hand and the chair handle with the other, her progress was slow but she managed to push the wheelchair past Warrick's body and then out of the door. She didn't step out fully. "My finger's on the trigger," she said. "Dead flush against his temple. If I hear as much as a rustle of clothing, one squeaking of shoes on the polished floor I pull the trigger. Do you hear me Brass?"

"Yeah, I hear you. Now get on with it!"

Brass's temper was getting the better of him and McKay smiled. She pushed the chair out into the corridor, waited a beat and when she was satisfied that Brass was keeping his word, eased herself out carefully. The gun never leaving Grissom's temple, she moved down the corridor, slowly and with difficulty. When she got half-way down, Grissom slowly raised his head, his eyes snapping open wide, petrified and staring directly at Brass. Sure that he had the captain's attention he slowly blinked his eyes closed three times.

Brass briefly averted his eyes downward, indicating his understanding and readiness. With no hesitation or fear for his life, Grissom counted to three in his head and flung his right arm up as hard as he could, knocking McKay's arm and the barrel of the gun up toward the ceiling. A shot rang out. In the blink of an eye, Brass had reached for his gun in its holster, raised it toward McKay and with no hesitation fired a bullet into her head.

Thrown back hard onto the ground McKay was immediately surrounded by Reno PD officers while Brass rushed to Grissom's side. "Help Warrick, please," the CSI said in a fraught whisper, as he tried to pull himself up to his feet. "There's no more time."

"Don't you worry, buddy," Brass replied over the sudden chaos that erupted around the place. "They're already doing what they can for him." He slipped his hands under Grissom's arms and helped him support his weight before gently forcing him back down into the chair. "Why don't you just sit tight in here while I get someone to help you, huh?" He looked up and caught a nearby nurse's eye nodding his head toward Grissom. "It's all over now; McKay's dead."

"She's still breathing," Vickers shouted frantically. "I need help here!"

Brass looked over toward where Vickers was bent over McKay's body a few feet away from them but made no move to go to her. She was lying on her back, the gun at a safe distance from her body. He could have sworn he'd hit the bull's eye and he sighed. Still, she looked dead to him. "Shame we're at the hospital already," he muttered under his breath. "With my luck, they might just bring her back."

"Sara…" Grissom said as the nurse began to fuss over him.

"Sara's okay, Gil," Brass replied with assurance, moving back to make way.

"But McKay…"

"I had her moved. She's safe," Brass insisted quietly.

A doctor came with a gurney. "Catherine's…with her?" Grissom rasped as he was moved onto the gurney.

"No," Brass replied with a puzzled frown. "She's had to go back to Vegas. You know she did. She came to see you before she left."

"Oh," Grissom said dazedly. "Who's with Sara, then?" he asked with growing confusion.

The penny suddenly dropped and Brass swallowed. "Her mother."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Dare I ask? Reviews? ;-)


	55. Chapter 55

Laura took Sara's hand in hers and turned it over, noticing for the first time the callused finger Grissom had so tenderly spoken about. She brushed the tip of her index finger back and forth over it a few times, ever so lightly, ever so gently, as though trying to commit it to memory. Her heart clenched with overwhelming grief and she pinched her lips, closing her eyes to hide her heartbreak, as another endless stream of tears rolled down her face.

This man, this _Grissom_, knew Sara better than she, her own mother did, better than she could ever hope to, and it broke her heart. This man had told her things she should have known about her own daughter, her flesh and blood. Simple things, titbits of a life she was never a part of. He could recall her smile, the exact colour of her eyes and contour of her face better than she could, her own mother who had given birth to her. _She_ should be the one to have fond memories of her daughter, of a happy life together, not him. _She_ should be the one to speak lovingly of her and know her like the back of her hand. More tears spilled, tears of anger and resentment this time, and she desperately tried to swallow them back but instead broke down into pitying sobs on Sara's shoulder.

"I've failed you. I've failed you all my life," she said through her tears, "as a child and then as an adult. Your brother's right; I've ruined both your lives. I've only ever done wrong by you but now it's going to end. Now I'm going to do right, right by _you_. Sara, sweetheart I promise to do the right thing and all I can to protect you from more pain and suffering." She paused again, unable to get her breath for the sobs catching in her throat, and buried her face in the crook of her daughter's neck, weeping.

"_Who is this woman, this McKay?" she had asked Brass anxiously, as McKay's threat had intensified and Sara was being moved to a different room in the ICU. "And why is she so hell-bent on killing her, on killing both of them? Do you think she'd try something here, now, knowing you're here protecting her?"_

_Brass hadn't answered. He had stared Laura in the eye for a long moment, still clearly debating with himself whether she was an amazing actress or just another innocent bystander in all this, and in the end had averted his gaze with a shake of the head._

"_Captain Brass," Laura had said, with a long despondent sigh that had made him look up, "if I were in your shoes I wouldn't trust me either." Her voice trembled and she'd held his gaze, her expression a mixture of sadness and resignation. "But I swear on my daughter's life that I have nothing to do with this woman, that I don't mean Sara any harm, only what's best for her. That's all I ever wanted for her and her brother however…misguided my actions in the past may appear to you. I can't take back what I did, however much I want to. But you got to know that what I did, I did to protect them both, Sara and Mattie. Isn't that a mother's job? To love and protect her children?"_

_Brass had shrugged, not in indifference but in uncertainty, turning away from Laura to speak to a passing nurse and Laura had given up trying to convince him. _

_And yet, in the end he'd had no choice but to trust her. When the call of "Officer down" had come he'd sent the two officers that were with him as backup. Then the news that Grissom was held at gunpoint came and when almost immediately they heard the gun shot Brass had looked at Laura, and then at Sara and fearing for Grissom's life had bolted out of the door. _

A little calmer now, Laura smoothed down a tendril of Sara's hair sticking out from under the bandage around her head, smiling as her fingers lingered on her daughter's face. "He loves you," she said in a murmur into her ear. "The man loves you with his life. The way he spoke about you…the smile on his face despite his tears…it was like you were there in front of his eyes and he only had to look at you. Like you were in his heart and he only had to close his eyes and look inside to find you."

She stroked around her eyes, wishing she could see their warm chocolate centres one last time, and her face clouded with sorrow. "He talks about you as though you're about to wake, as though you're just asleep," she continued. She swallowed and roughly wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "And maybe you are."

Tears welled in her eyes again and she glanced over her shoulder toward the door as though expecting it to open at any moment and for Brass to storm back in and pull her away. "You're very fortunate, Sara," she said, "to have known a love like that, to have found such a depth of devotion, such dedication in a man. Such unconditional love. A love that will not end with death."

The second gun shot rang out suddenly, echoing through the floor with deadly silence. Laura flinched and immediately stopped crying, wiping her tears while her expression darkened solemnly as a terrible sense of foreboding coursed through her. Panic filled her, a physical sickness she could feel in her throat and in her gut, and she hurried out of the door, almost knocking a passing nurse off her feet in her haste to find out what was happening. She quickly mumbled an apology before running down the corridor toward the bank of elevators.

A look of fear suddenly crossed her face, replacing her panic and she stopped dead in her tracks. She frowned and whipped her head round, urgently scanning the corridor with her eyes but it was empty. Still, the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end and she could smell danger. She wanted to throw up. _I can't leave Sara; I'm her only defence, _she thought, quickly retracing her steps to Sara's room.

She opened the door quietly and found he nurse she'd bumped into by Sara's bed near the bank of life support equipment. Everything looked as it should. Breathing hard, she closed her eyes as relief washed over her and noiselessly took a step in, watching as the nurse suddenly took hold of Sara's breathing tube with one hand and the mouthpiece with the other.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked with sudden alarm, startling the nurse out of her wits.

The nurse took a moment before turning around, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. "I was only checking everything worked as it should," she replied hesitantly, making a show of checking Sara's breathing tube before turning toward the EEG reading.

Laura glanced down the corridor for police presence, but it sounded like mayhem had erupted downstairs and there was none. She stepped fully into the room, watching as the nurse reached for Sara's medical chart. "Maria's just done all that," she said with growing anxiety. "Do you have any idea what's happening downstairs?"

"A mental patient's cut loose," the woman replied distractedly, glancing up briefly from the chart. Laura tried to make eye contact but the nurse's gaze shifted quickly back to Sara. "They got it under control," she added, trying a reassuring tone but it only increased Laura's fears and suspicions that something was amiss.

Laura moved closer to the bed, searching with her eyes the nurse's chest for ID. "I've not seen you before," she said, adopting what she hoped was a casual tone. "Are you new?"

"I'm generally on the cardiac ward," the nurse replied with an edge to her voice.

Laura eyed the nurse with distrust. "Where _is_ Maria?" she asked, swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat. She hopelessly glanced toward the closed door, willing Brass to return.

"She's…gone on her break. Could you leave the room please?"

Laura did a double take. "I beg your pardon?"

"I need to change her catheter."

"Change her catheter?" she repeated with disbelief. "But Maria…" She shook her head. "Can I see some ID, please?" she insisted, moving closer to the nurse.

The nurse's smile faded, her mask suddenly dropping, her gaze darkening ominously.

Laura looked toward the door but there was no way she could leave Sara on her own while she went and got help. "Captain Brass is on his way," she said bravely squaring her shoulders and edging between Sara and the nurse protectively.

The nurse narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I don't think so. He's far too busy downstairs." She slipped her right hand in her pocket and pulled out a pair of surgical scissors, which she threatened Laura with.

Laura's eyes widened with fear as panic once more filled her. Suddenly, she was taken back in time and it wasn't a nurse standing there in front of her brandishing a pair of scissors but Sara's father with a raised fist. Sara wasn't lying in her hospital bed anymore but cowering under the kitchen table, black and blue, her lip split and swollen, silent and dumbstruck as she trembled with fear.

"Put the scissors down, please," she said raising a protective hand toward the nurse.

The nurse made a wild swipe at her with the scissors but Laura reared back and she missed.

"Put the scissors down, I beg you," Laura cried.

"I don't think so." Holding the scissors up defensively toward Laura, the nurse felt the fingers of her left hand to the life-support machine searching for the on/off switch.

Laura's body began to tremble with fear and tears began streaming down her face as her emotion got the better of her. "Don't you harm her, please," she pleaded tearfully. "She's just a little girl, my little girl. I beg you."

Her fingers hovering teasingly over the switch, the nurse smirked at Laura's pathetic pleas.

Laura's gaze hardened and she swallowed, her tears stopping immediately as the nurse's smirk morphed with that of Sara's father in her head. Her breath hitched. She wasn't the weak, defenceless, pathetic woman she once was and wouldn't behave or be treated as such anymore. Then, she'd grabbed the first thing underhand - a kitchen knife - with devastating consequences. Now, she knew different. Holding the nurse's gaze fiercely, she surged forward, grabbing the nurse by the wrist and twisting it round mercilessly until the scissors dropped to the ground.

The nurse gave up trying to turn Sara's ventilator off and with her free hand, got hold of Laura's hair and pulled back as hard as she could. But pain was something Sara's mother was used to and had learned _not_ to accept. She kept her cool, holding fast and channelled twenty-two years of pent-up anger and frustration, and regret into protecting her daughter. With a move she had practised countless times, replayed over and over again in her head in the aftermath of stabbing her husband to death, Laura tightened her hold on the nurse's wrist, twisting it round until the nurse grunted in pain and was left with no choice but to let go of Laura. Laura continued to twist the nurse's arm behind her back in a textbook self-defence manoeuvre until beaten, the nurse dropped to her knees with a loud scream of pain.

At that same moment the door flew open and Brass barged in, weapon drawn. He took in the two women on the floor, the muzzle of his gun flicking uncertainly between them. The nurse was immobilised on the floor, Laura's knee pressing hard onto her back while her arm was held back in an arm breaking lock.

"Get her off me!" the nurse began to shout. "This woman is demented. She just tried to kill her own daughter!"

"That's not true!" Laura defended, as she twisted the nurse's arm higher up her back. "She's lying! She was trying to turn Sara's life support machine off. I swear to you, Captain Brass it's the truth," she insisted, even though she knew Brass wouldn't believe her.

Brass threw a glance toward Sara, noticing the pair of scissors lying on the floor. He moved closer to them and kicked them out of the way, all the while holding Laura's gaze. "Let her go," he told her. "It's all over now." He motioned to the two officers behind him to step in and separate the two women.

Laura's gaze filled with sadness and she nodded resignedly. She slowly released her hold on the woman and got to her feet stopping only just short of holding out her wrists for them to be cuffed. She watched as one officer got hold of her arm while the other helped the nurse up. The latter got to her feet, throwing Laura a wry victorious smirk.

"Take her into custody," Brass instructed with a nod toward the nurse.

"What? No," the latter shrieked. "You're making a mistake. _She_'s the killer."

"Save your breath for the interrogation room," Brass said with disinterest, watching as the officers led her out of the room.

"Did you catch McKay?" Laura asked with alarm. "Is Mr Grissom okay? Is he hurt? Only when I heard the second gunshot, I thought-" Her words were coming out between heavy pants as she struggled to catch her breath. Her whole body began to shake with the dry sobs that suddenly racked her and she wavered on her feet weakly.

Brass wrapped his arm around her and helped her down onto a nearby chair. "Come on, Laura, take slow deep breaths," he said, crouching down in front of her. "It's the shock. It's only shock. Grissom's going to be okay and Sara's all right too. She's okay. She's okay," he kept repeating soothingly while she calmed.

"I'm sorry," she said when the last of her sobs had subsided and she felt calmer. "I don't know what came over me."

Brass pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wordlessly passed it to her. "I've seen it before, it's perfectly normal," he said in a casual, almost friendly tone while Laura dabbed at her eyes. "Grissom would give you the medical explanation for it. But it's to do with levels of adrenaline released in your body in moments of stress…Anyway," Brass said with a shake of the head as he pushed to his feet, "that was an impressive move you showed there. You nearly broke her arm."

Laura couldn't help the upward curl of her lips and she shrugged. "Sadly, I learned it far too late," she said with a sigh. Brass nodded his understanding. "I'm...trained in weaponless defence," she added brightly, "I took classes when I was in jail." Brass arched a brow, glancing toward Sara. "And now, I teach self-defence at the women's refuge, among other things but it's the first time I really put my training into practice."

"Sara's pretty good with her hands too," Brass remarked, smiling back.

Laura glanced toward Sara, her smile fading. "What made you change your mind about me?"

The detective pursed his face thoughtfully before letting out a drawn-out sigh. "Grissom put in a good case in your favour, so I edged my bets. Besides, we suspected McKay had an accomplice here at this hospital and now it seems we found her."

Laura hadn't known Brass very long, but she knew this was as close to an apology she'd receive. "Thank you," she said, catching his eye before getting up and moving closer the bed. Pinching her lips as she willed herself to stay strong, she took her daughter's hand. "It won't bring Sara back, though, will it?"

Brass joined her side. "No, it won't," he replied quietly, "but it will bring some comfort to you and Gil. And me too. At least now, she can't hurt us anymore."

Laura nodded her head, her watery eyes fixed on Sara's face. "It's all too late, though, isn't it?"

"She's not gone yet, is she?" Brass replied with a hopeful tone. "So we must be strong and not give up hope. There's always hope."

Although well-meant the detective's words were of little comfort. Laura nodded, a lonely tear running down the side of her face.

Brass touched his hand to her shoulder. "You did good today, Laura. Sara would be proud." Brass gave a comforting squeeze of her shoulder and Laura closed her eyes, nodding her head more vigorously. "I know she would," he repeated quietly. Laura didn't reply and the detective lapsed into an awkward silence. "I hear a brain specialist is on the way," he croaked after a while before clearing his throat uneasily.

"Everyone tells me that this isn't Sara lying there," she cut in before he could say more. "That the real Sara's vibrant and smart and headstrong and-" Laura paused abruptly, and cleared the tears in her voice before taking a shuddering breath. "Do you have children Captain Brass?"

Brass nodded softly. "I have a daughter, Ellie."

"If it were her lying there, like this…what would you do? Would you prolong her life?"

The detective lifted his shoulder in uncertainty. "Honestly, I don't know."

Laura closed her eyes, releasing a fresh flow of tears. "I do, and Mr Grissom does to."

Brass didn't say anything. When she reopened her eyes, turning toward him with a sad grateful smile he was watching Sara with uncensored tenderness, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill. Understanding that this man's love for Sara was as genuine as Grissom's, if of a different nature, she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before gently placing Sara's in it. "Stay with her for a moment," she said in a quiet voice. She took a moment to dry her tears while she watched Sara before leaving the room.

Brass stood numb and absolutely still for long minutes, the tears in his eyes remaining unshed. Gradually, his face pursed, contorting with pain and sorrow and he gripped Sara's hand tighter as for the first time since her attack he allowed his tears to flow and himself to begin to grieve.

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone again for their amazing and overwhelming and sustained support with this story. Those who review, but also those of you who have recently put the story on alert or in their favourite list. So late on in the game, it means a lot first that you've read this far but also that you want to know how it'll all end. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.


	56. Chapter 56

Laura stepped out of the elevator and stopped abruptly. The cardiac ward was crawling with law enforcement personnel, nurses and doctors, all rushing about, all shouting orders as they tried to restore order. Suddenly the sound was muted in her head, the action unfolding in slow motion in front of her eyes and thinking she was about to faint she reached out a hand to the side, closing her eyes to curb the spinning in her head.

A doctor bumped into her shoulder as he hurried out of the elevator, drawing her back to the present and she turned toward him, watching blindly as he rushed down the corridor toward what had been Grissom's room. She followed him, stepping around a taped-off puddle of blood and stopped at the threshold. The door was open and the tall African American man she recognised as Sara's guard was being worked on. She couldn't remember his name. He was lying on his back on the floor, unconscious. An IV line had been inserted into his arm, an endotracheal tube into his throat and a nurse kneeling directly above his head was manually ventilating his lungs. There were no signs of Grissom.

Laura was watching the scene, hypnotised by the slow regular squeezing of the oxygen bag, when the nurse caught her eye. "You shouldn't be here," she told her over the voices of the doctors discussing Warrick's condition.

Laura startled before blinking as she refocused her gaze on the nurse. "I'm looking for Mr Grissom?" she said. "Gil Grissom? He was in this room before…before…" she shrugged helplessly the rest of her explanation.

"Try the nurses' station," the nurse said.

Laura nodded, her gaze fixed once again on the actions of the doctors, stepping back to make way as a gurney was brought in. More orders were issued and Warrick was carefully loaded onto it.

"Is he going to be all right?" Laura asked as the gurney was swiftly wheeled past her.

"Try the nurses' station," the nurse repeated.

Laura flashed a small smile, nodding gratefully. "Thank you," she said, watching numbly as Warrick disappeared out of sight.

"Ma'am," a police officer said, coming from behind her. "You can't stay here. This is a crime scene."

In a daze, Laura turned toward the voice and let the officer lead her away down the corridor to the nurses' station. There, she was told where Grissom was being treated and she blindly followed the signs to the room. The door was open and she once again stopped at the threshold. Grissom lay in bed, clearly agitated and out of it, and a nurse was trying to attach cardiac electrodes to his chest. An IV dripped into his arm and he squirmed restlessly, mumbling incoherent objections, making the nurse's attempts fraught.

"Sir," the nurse said with a fed-up sigh, clearly at the end of her tether, "if you don't cooperate and let me do this I'm going to have to restrain you."

Laura took a hesitant step into the room. "Mr Grissom," she said quietly. Her voice seemed to have an effect on Grissom who calmed down almost instantly.

"Laura," he mumbled turning his head toward the door while his eyes blinked open uncertainly. "Sara…"

"Sara's fine," she replied putting as much warmth as possible into her words. She moved to the end of the bed, watching as the nurse finished hooking Grissom up to the cardiac monitor and smiled reassuringly. "She's absolutely fine. Captain Brass is with her now."

Grissom's eyes drifted shut, his head sinking into the pillow in a drug-induced slumber. "Oh. Good. I thought…" his words drifted as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"How is he?" Laura asked the nurse with concern.

"He's weak but he was able to tell us what it is he was given. That helped. He's going to be out of it for quite a while but he should make a full recovery." She threw Laura a warm smile. "Are you his wife?"

Laura drew back with surprise. "No. I'm…a friend, I hope," she replied with a sad smile.

The nurse nodded. "He needs to rest now."

Laura hesitated. "Can I stay in the room for a moment? I promise I won't interfere. I just need to…" she shrugged helplessly, "I just need to be here for a little while."

"Five minutes. No more."

"Thank you." Laura flashed a brief smile, her gaze flicking back to Grissom. The nurse left them alone; the lights went out and the door closed quietly, shutting out the sound of a hospital ward where calm was being slowly restored in the aftermath of McKay's rampage. Laura pulled a chair nearer the bed and reached out to take Grissom's hand but she didn't.

She must have dosed off because the next thing she knew she was startled awake by a sharp cry. She rose out of the chair suddenly and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, affectionately while he drifted in and out of dreams. His eyes were shut, his brow shining with sweat and he was writhing in the bed, muttering to himself anxiously, incomprehensively. Laura spoke soothing words into his ear and dabbed at his brow with a cloth while she held his hand but his mumblings didn't stop. She leaned closer to his mouth and listened, the words death and Sara, and McKay and ring repeated over and over again, and then he went back to a fitful sleep, Warrick's name on his lips.

* * *

Brass pushed the door to Grissom's room open, expecting to see his friend propped up against a couple of pillows, awake and rested. The bed was empty, an orderly busy changing the sheets. He rasped his knuckles on the door, waiting for the orderly to turn before asking, "Your patient, any idea where he's wandered off to?"

The orderly smiled a knowing smile. "Not an easy man to content," she replied in good humour. Then she explained that after sleeping for twenty-four hours straight he'd woken up, summoning a nurse, demanding to be taken to the ICU. And that's where he was now.

Brass smiled, shaking his head in amazement and made his way back upstairs, not to Sara's room though – somehow he knew he wouldn't find his friend there – but to Warrick's. He watched him for an instant from the door and sighing, took a step inside. "You should be in bed," he said, his tone kind and non-condemning as he shut the door after him.

Grissom dipped his head to the side, his shoulders shaking. Brass let out a long sigh and moved behind his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Holding back his own pain he silently squeezed Grissom's shoulder in support while the CSI cried, the kind of crying where you clench your teeth and tighten your jaw and fight your tears because if you let it all out you would just unravel. And after a moment, Grissom's chest filled and then he exhaled slowly, recomposing himself. Brass patted his friend on the back a couple of times and moved to the end of the bed, making a show of studying Warrick's chart.

"I don't know why I'm even bothering," he said with mock-disgust, trying to lighten the mood as he replaced the chart in its slot. "It's all Greek to me." Grissom didn't respond and the captain sighed again, swaying on his feet uneasily.

"This is all my fault, Jim," Grissom said, turning slightly toward Brass, looking at him with hooded eyes. "If I hadn't been so blinded by my rage, if I hadn't been so hell-bent on revenge none of this would have happened and Warrick would still be…" he stopped in his track and averted is eyes downward.

Brass had no words that could make Grissom feel better and if anything he shared similar feelings of guilt. "Any change in his condition?" he asked instead.

Grissom shook his head briskly, his grip on Warrick's hand tightening. "No. He's not regained consciousness at all. They still don't know what he was injected with but whatever it was would have killed me."

"Well it didn't, so stop thinking like that," Brass exclaimed more curtly than he intended. He paused, taking a deep breath. "Warrick's taller, bigger, healthier. Younger. He's got a good chance to survive this."

"It should have been me, Jim," Grissom said, shaking his head despondently. "It should have been me."

"Please, Gil, don't do this to yourself. What is done is done. Warrick's tough, he'll fight this." He gave Grissom's shoulder another squeeze. "You heard about McKay?" he asked, changing tack.

Grissom nodded his head. "I hear she's next door."

Brass looked surprised that Grissom had bothered to find out. "They say her days are counted but so far no such luck." He let out an uneasy laugh. "They couldn't take out the bullet. It's lodged…somewhere," Brass said with a wave of his hand to his forehead.

"From that range?"

"Exactly," the detective replied. "Should have died on the spot but what can I say?" He lifted his shoulder, a sudden smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. "I need a new gun, one that takes silver bullets." His quip didn't have the required effect and Brass moved toward the window. "We caught her accomplice by the way, or rather Laura did." He paused, and Grissom turned, frowning questioningly. "I'll leave her to regale the tale," Brass smiled, "but like mother like daughter, it would seem. Anyway, we charged a nurse here at St Mary's with attempted murder. She worked in the cardiac ward. Maybe you even know her? Her name's Helen Ramirez."

Grissom pursed his face thoughtfully and shook his head. "What's her connection with McKay?"

"Well, you probably won't believe me but…" Pulling up a chair next to Grissom Brass shook his head with amusement, "but McKay was swinging both ways."

Grissom's brow flew up. "Swinging both ways?"

Brass shrugged. "They were lovers, you know…" Faced with Grissom's increasingly puzzled expression, he took a breath, saying, "Let me start from the beginning. Vickers is a mate, right? So as a courtesy he lets me sit in the interview, you know, provided I stay out of the way and bite my tongue." Grissom scoffed, and sighing in an over-dramatic I-can't-help-it fashion Brass began his tale.

_We all know who we are and why we're here," Vickers said, cutting short introductions as he took a seat across from the suspect. "You're waving your rights to legal representation, is that correct?" _

_Helen's arms were folded across her chest. "I haven't done anything wrong."_

"_Only because you were stopped in time," Brass cut in edgily. _

"_You don't know that," the nurse snapped back angrily. "It's her word against mine."_

_Vickers sent Brass a withering look that clearly told him, "You let me do this my way or you're out of here," and Brass took a deep breath, turning away._

"_What were you doing in Sara Sidle's room?" the Reno PD sergeant asked. _

_Helen Ramirez flicked her darkened gaze from Brass's back to Vickers but remained silent._

"_You work on the cardiac ward. You had no business in ICU," Vickers went on. "What were you doing in Sara Sidle's room?" he asked again, raising his voice a notch._

_Helen shifted in her seat. "Maria was on her break and-"_

"_Cut the crap," Brass interjected impatiently. "How do you know McKay?" _

_Helen Ramirez dug her heels in, turning her raised arch of the brow toward Vickers as though asking him who was in charge of the interrogation._

_Vickers let out a breath. "And?" he prompted, ignoring Brass's interruption._

"_I was checking the breathing tube when that nutcase assaulted me. She accused me of trying to kill her daughter and she just lost it."_

"_Just like that?"_

"_Yes."_

"_What about the scissors we found on the floor?" Brass asked. "They're yours, aren't they?" _

_Helen didn't reply. _

"_Your prints were on them. No one else's," Vickers chipped in. _

"_Of course my prints are on them. I keep them in my pocket; we all do. I used them for my work all the time. It doesn't mean anything. I was only using them to defend myself."_

"_In her statement, Laura Sidle says that you attacked her first, that you threatened her with the scissors, and I quote," Vickers flicked through a few sheets in front of him until he found Laura's statement, "'she came at me and tried to stab me with them.' That doesn't sound like _defending _yourself to me."_

"_That's rubbish," Helen protested weakly._

"_So tell us what happened," Vickers said his tone gentle and coaxing, causing Brass to snort in disbelief._

"_I already told you," Helen said, taking an impatient breath, "I was checking on the patient and she assaulted me. She needs locking up."_

"_And you know all about that, don't you?" Brass said wryly._

"_What's that supposed to mean?" Helen looked at Brass and then at Vickers._

"_Tell us about Joanne McKay," Vickers said, changing tack._

_Helen waited a beat before replying. "Who?"_

"_Joanne McKay." _

"_Your friend," Brass added. "Your _good_ friend."_

"_Never heard of her."_

_Vickers pursed a dubious face. "That's strange," he said, "because here it says that before you got the job at St Mary's you worked as a psychiatric nurse in __Florence McClure women's correctional centre. For five years."_

"_Yeah, and? I had enough so I left."_

"_That's right," Vickers said. "You left four months ago."_

_Helen shrugged. "My father fell ill and I wanted to be closer to him."_

_Brass's face hardened and he leaned down into Helen Ramirez's face. "That's not what we think happened," he said in a whisper, glancing at his colleague, his gaze hard. "We think you left when Joanne got out. After her son committed suicide and the charges against her were dropped." _

"_I wouldn't know. I've already told you I don't know her."_

_Brass let out a disbelieving chuckle. "But that's not true, is it? Because while in jail, Joanne tried to commit suicide. And you," he paused for effect, "were the one who put her on suicide watch. Do you remember her now?"_

_Helen's face closed off and she lifted her shoulder in a small shrug._

"_Are you still denying you two ever knew each other?" Brass snapped short-temperedly. He banged the flat of his hand hard on the table, making her flinch. "Because this here is a copy of the prison infirmary records for Joanne McKay," he added, tapping the sheets in front of Vickers, "and on them, it clearly states that she was admitted several times and that she was kept there under _your_ responsibility. _Your _responsibility," he repeated, pointing a sharp finger at the nurse's chest. He paused and shook his head, before asking his tone becoming gentle and coaxing. "What happened? Did you take pity on her when she spilt her heart out to you?"_

"_She should never have been there!" Helen exclaimed suddenly. "She should never have been incarcerated!"_

_Vickers was about to say something but Brass lifted his hand, cutting him off. "I was there," he almost shouted in an exasperated tone. "I'm the one who arrested her for the incest on her son and put her behind bars and she goddamn belonged there."_

"_It's not true!"_

"_And why is that?" Brass asked._

"_She doesn't like men. She loves me. And I love her." _

_Brass was left speechless. He opened his mouth to talk but then he couldn't think of a retort and shut it again, his head shaking in disbelief._

"_Did she ask you to kill Sara Sidle?" Vickers asked quietly._

_Tears filled Helen's eyes and she shrugged. "Where's Joanne?" she asked, bringing a shaky hand to her face and wiping her tears. "What happened to her?"_

"Well, you know the answer to that, and then she confessed," Brass told Grissom with a chuckle to himself. "You want to know why she did it?" He chuckled some more and shook his head in disbelief. "She claimed she did it for _Joanne_," he said miming quotation marks, "so _Joanne_ could have _closure_ and move on. Fucking closure." He shook his head again. "Can you believe that?"

Grissom exhaled a long breath while he pondered Brass's words. "She had all these people in love with her, or at least infatuated with her and she was incapable of loving any of them back," he said. "People prepared to give their freedom – or their life even – for her and it still wasn't enough. She just could not love them back." He rubbed at his eyes, his head shaking. "What a waste."

"Tragic," Brass said dryly.

"I want to see her," Grissom said, lifting his eyes to Brass.

"What? Oh, Gil, why? That's not a good idea, buddy. It's over. Over."

"No."

Brass scoffed and rose to his feet. "You won't get your apology now if that's what you're still hankering after."

"It's not that."

Brass's frown was concerned. "What is it then?"

Grissom pinched his lips with obvious sorrow. "She's got something of mine and I want it back."

"How do you mean?"

Grissom lifted a small shoulder but shook his head without replying, leaving Brass perplexed. He gave a one-handed turn of his wheelchair backwards before swivelling round and raising his brow questioningly.

Knowing there was nothing he could say that would change his friend's mind Brass moved his chair back out of the way. "Okay," he said. "I'll take you."

They didn't have far to go. Brass stopped and they remained at the threshold of the room, warily watching McKay from a distance as though any moment now she would wake, rise from the bed and strike out. "Are you sure you want to do this?" the captain asked.

Grissom nodded. "It's not like she can do anything anymore, can she?"

"She's done enough, Gil," Brass replied in a sad voice. Grissom gave a nod of the head toward the bed and Brass sighed, dutifully pushing him in. Both McKay's hands were laid out flat on top of the bed sheet, their fingers painfully bare.

"It's not there," Grissom said in a whisper.

"What isn't?" Brass asked with confusion.

Grissom didn't reply. "Where's her stuff? Her clothes, her purse."

"Whatever personal stuff she had, and there wasn't much, is already in evidence with Reno PD, Gil," said Brass.

Grissom closed his eyes with a despondent sigh. "I was hoping they hadn't taken it yet."

"I don't understand," Brass said, watching as his friend reopened and lifted tormented eyes up to him. "Gil? Come on, buddy, it's me, Brass. Your friend, you can talk to me."

Grissom stared at his friend, his gaze pained and blurring. "She took Sara's engagement ring from me when she came to the townhouse," he said with a helpless shrug, "the second time when I'd drunk myself stupid and…" He covered his face, taking a deep shuddering breath, a breath so sad that it broke Brass's heart. "And she was wearing it, Jim, taunting me with it when she came to the hospital yesterday."

"Are you sure?" Brass asked in a sigh, regretting the question as soon as it left his lips. Grissom nodded. "I looked through her stuff before Vickers took it in and there wasn't a ring."

"You said she had surgery," Grissom went on with renewed hope. "Maybe they took it off before the operation and forgot to put it in with her personal effects."

Brass shook his head. "I checked; I'm sorry there wasn't a ring."

Grissom swallowed, nodding, pinching his lips into a thin line not quite managing a smile. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. It's too late. Too little, too late."

Brass touched his friend on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, with all the warmth and compassion he could muster, "I truly am."

Raised voices suddenly drifted in from the corridor.

"It's Laura's voice," Grissom said with a frown, turning toward the door.

"Yeah, and she's with her son." Brass paused, listening in to the hushed yet loud enough to be heard conversation. "And he's refusing her access to the room."

"Well, we'll see about that."

* * *

Tbc.


	57. Chapter 57

A/N: Sorry about the longer than usual delay. Real life, or rather a give way sign, got in the way. I'm okay, the car not so much. Anyway, I'm issuing a hanky warning for this and the subsequent chapters.

* * *

"Sara's not here," Matthew repeated impatiently, his exasperation getting the better of him. "That's why you can't see her."

Brass wheeled Grissom out of Warrick's room and down the corridor toward the pair. A woman wearing a court suit and carrying a briefcase stood slightly back, taking in the exchange with interest and Grissom twisted his lips in a wry, knowing smile.

Laura combed a shaky hand through her hair while she took in what her son had just said. She sucked in a breath, willing herself to keep calm. "What have you done with her?" she asked giving a sideways glance as Brass and Grissom joined her side. There was no panic or anger in her voice, just genuine concern. "Where have you had her moved to? You can't just shut me out, Matthew. I'm her mother. I've a right to-"

Matthew's gaze flitted to Grissom and then back up to his mother, the last four days visibly taking their toll on him too. He let out a long weary breath and held up his hand, interrupting. "They took her down to radiology for more tests, mom," he said, registering a look of genuine surprise at his use of the long-abandoned term of endearment. He recovered quickly, his mask once more slipping back in place.

Grissom reached up for Laura's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "It's okay," he told her quietly. "That was to be expected." Laura glanced down toward him and nodded her head in gratefulness. "What kind of tests?" he asked Matthew. To the younger man's non-answer he sighed, saying, "Listen Matthew, whether you believe it or not, we're all on the same side here. We all want Sara to get better." He smiled uneasily. "We're all praying for a miracle, right? So you might as well level with us and save us all the bother."

Sara's brother rubbed his eyes and looked over his shoulder at his companion, clearly debating with himself whether to answer the question or not.

Brass shifted uneasily on his feet, clearing his throat. "And you are?" he asked, addressing the woman with a curt nod.

Matthew gave her a nod of the head and the woman stepped forward, extending her hand with confidence. "Alicia Coutts. I'm an attorney specialising in clinical and medical law."

Grissom felt Laura tense up next to him and he tightened his grip of her hand reassuringly.

"Captain Brass, head of the Las Vegas Police Department," said Brass, reluctantly leaning across above Grissom's shoulder to shake the attorney's hand. "And this is _Dr_ Grissom," he added putting deliberate emphasis on Grissom's title, "night shift supervisor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

The attorney's brow rose and she flashed Grissom a brief smile, her outstretched hand wavering uncertainly in the air. Grissom made no move to shake it, and she withdrew it self-consciously. "Law-enforcement," she remarked coldly.

"Did Matthew forget to mention that?" Brass asked, wickedly.

Grissom couldn't help his lips twitch at the dry smile that suddenly split his friend's weary face. "Matthew's contesting Laura's legal right to being Sara's next-of-kin," he explained, unnecessarily. "He thinks she doesn't have Sara's best interests at heart. I don't even figure in the picture." He looked up toward Laura, and winked.

Brass didn't miss a beat. "Get in touch with Sergeant Vickers of Reno PD," he told Alicia slyly. "He's got a file on Laura." Brass eyed Matthew with distrust for a moment longer. "It's not what this is about, though, is it?" he said, as if reading something on Matthew's face that the others hadn't. Grissom looked up over his shoulder at the detective, a puzzled frown on his face. Brass's tone changed. "What are you hiding from us, Sidle?"

Matthew flicked his gaze from Brass to his mother and then to Grissom, and exhaled a long breath. He opened his mouth to say something but then glanced at his attorney and changed his mind. "You'll know in due course," he said.

"What does that mean?" Laura asked anxiously. "Matthew? You can't keep us in the dark like this. Has something happened with Sara?"

"Laura, don't give him the satisfaction," said Brass. "He's playing a game he won't win."

"Sara's shown…_more_ signs of brain activity," Matthew conceded in a sigh.

Grissom's heart leapt in his chest. He heard Laura's faint, "Oh, my God," and automatically clenched his fingers tighter around her hand. He closed his eyes, feeling the dull throb of the blood coursing through his head. He felt dizzy, giddy with the sudden rush. Brass's hand moved to his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" the captain asked, ever the cool pragmatic, voicing what Grissom was incapable of in that moment. "What kind of 'brain activity' are we talking about here?"

Matthew's face lit up suddenly, pleased with himself that he had the upper hand. "Some unexplained twitch on her EEG reading."

"What's that?" Laura asked weakly. She had tears in her voice.

Grissom reopened his eyes, looked at the blurry sea of faces around him, grateful for Brass's presence by his side. He wanted to rejoice. He wanted to believe. Believe that this was it. His miracle. At long last, Sara was showing signs of life. She was coming back to him. The euphoria in his heart lasted exactly a beat before he quashed it down. He blinked and found his voice. "When?" he croaked.

"Yesterday – when that...woman tried to kill her."

"And you kept it to yourself until now?" Laura gasped. "All this time? What kind of person are you?"

"Why weren't we told about his?" Brass asked, accusingly. Matthew's reply was a dismissive lift of the shoulder.

Grissom wouldn't allow himself to hope and have his heart broken all over again. He just couldn't. He swallowed. "Another peak, like the one last Sunday?" he asked, hopeful despite himself.

"That's right," Matthew replied. "Except this time, more pronounced."

"More pronounced how?" Grissom asked.

"I don't know," Matthew replied, his voice rising in exasperation. "What does it matter? Sara's NOT brain dead, Mr Grissom, that's all there is to it."

Grissom nodded, his gaze flicking to Tina hurrying down the corridor. He froze on meeting her gaze and formed his lips into a wan, slightly wobbly, apologetic smile. She stopped at Warrick's door and stared back at him with evident resentment and some hostility too and Grissom could only stare back at her with immense sorrow. Her pain was palpable, her heartbreak visible and his heart ached for her. She broke eye contact first, entering her husband's room abruptly.

"Oh, and Dr Grissom?" Matthew was now saying, cutting into his thoughts. Grissom watched Tina disappear before slowly refocusing his attention on Sara's brother. "Dr Stanley from Yale will be here at three," he said, including his mother with a look. "He'll have all the tests results by then and he'll be able to tell us for definite Sara's status." He paused. "That's all I can offer you right now." He nodded at the attorney that the conversation was over and made to leave.

Grissom rolled his tongue around his mouth, nodding his understanding, still shell-shocked by the news. "That's all we ask of you. Thank you."

Matthew threw the trio a short smile and turned away, quickly followed by the loud clicking of the attorney's heels on the lino floor.

Brass clapped Grissom's shoulder a few times. "That's great, buddy!" he exclaimed, chuckling with delight. Grissom's face was set, his gaze distant and dull, and suddenly he looked on the verge of tears. "Isn't it?" Brass added uncertainly.

Grissom shook his head. "No, it's not," he said, angry now. "He's going to contest the living will Sara made. Sara made a living will, Jim and Matthew's going to contest its validity." His voice rose. "And now, he's got the grounds to do so."

"I don't understand, Gil," Brass said helplessly. "If Sara's showing signs of waking, signs of recovery, what does it matter about the will?"

"No, Jim," Grissom said impatiently. "Sara's _brain_ is showing signs of not being dead but it doesn't mean that Sara's going to wake!" he almost shouted. He looked down, fighting for composure. "And even if she did wake, we'd still be looking at some kind of brain damage, Jim. Serious brain damage and-" Tears sprung in his eyes and he wiped at them furiously. "And-And-"

"And Sara would rather be dead than live like this," Brass finished sadly.

His hand moving to his chest Grissom scrunched his face with pain while nodding a weak reply.

"You okay?" Laura asked with sudden alarm, crouching down.

Grissom shook his head slowly. His eyes were closed, his hand clutching at his chest, his breathing slow and pained. "It's okay; it's passing," he said between breaths.

"I'm taking you back to your room now," Brass said, in his no-nonsense tone.

Weak as he felt at that moment, Grissom didn't even try to argue. He simply nodded his head.

Laura watched the scene with sorrow. "I'm going to wait here for Sara," she said as the pair made to leave toward the elevator. And then to Brass's receding back, "You take care of him."

"Tina's here," Grissom said as they went past Warrick's door. "I saw her arrive a few minutes ago."

"She got here last night," Brass supplied. "I got to speak to her a little but…" he trailed off.

Grissom put his hand on the wheelchair wheel, slowing its movement. "I need to see her, talk to her – explain."

"No," Brass said categorically. "Not now. You're going back to bed." He softened his tone. "Besides I think she needs some time on her own while she comes to terms with what's happened." He called the elevator. "She's not too keen on any of us at the moment," he added, trying to inject a little lightness into his words.

Grissom forced a smile, nodding his understanding. "You notified his grandmother?"

"Catherine did. She said she'd go round, tell her in person. I thought it'd be better that way, you know?"

"Yeah," he replied, his voice loaded with sadness, "I know."

* * *

His hand brushed her hair out of her face, ever so softly, ever so lovingly, and he smiled with all the tenderness he possessed. "I managed to sneak out," he said in a whisper, tucking a rogue tendril under the bandage. "I can only stay for a short while though, or they'll send a search party."

His gaze turned wistful and his smile faded as featherlike fingers began tracing the familiar path around the hollow of her eyes, down over her cheekbone to the downward curve of her mouth, stopping at the breathing tube. His heart filled with love all over again, so much it hurt, and he could only fill his lungs with it, breathing it in to bursting point. He stared at her for a very long time, and then at the life support machine, mulling over Dr Stanley's words.

What if she could come back to him? What if she could come back to him whole, unscathed, unchanged? Was a miracle too much to hope for?

"They moved me," he continued quietly. "They said my heart's fine, so I'm down on the orthopaedic ward now, for my legs." His blue eyes darkened, glassing over. "Except it's not, is it?" His lips wobbled and he lapsed into silence, his hand gliding over the bed sheet to encircle hers. "Oh, Sara…"

Closing his eyes, he laid his head on the edge of the bed and brought her hand to her face, squeezing it to him until he thought he could feel her strength seep through him. "I messed up, Sara," he said in a whisper, unable to keep his emotions bottled up any longer. "I messed up bad, and now Warrick's going to die."

"Gil…"

He shook his head, but didn't acknowledge her voice.

"You don't know that," she insisted.

"It's all my fault."

Her free hand found the back of his head and stroked through his curls soothingly. "No, Gil."

"It should have been me."

"You couldn't have foreseen what was going to happen."

"Yes, I could," he said lifting his head, meeting her soft gaze with a hardened one of his own, "and I played right into her hands. I might as well have plunged that syringe into his neck myself."

"Gil, stop," Sara said pleadingly. "Stop torturing yourself. Please." She pulled her hand away from his grasp to cup his face, but he recoiled at the touch, turning away.

"Don't," he said harshly. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Sara brought her hand to his cheek nevertheless. "Look at me," she said. He shook his head stubbornly. "Please, look at me." She coaxed his face round, making eye contact.

His eyes filled and he pinched his lips into a thin line to stop them quavering. "I miss you. I miss you so much."

His pain and sorrow was mirrored in Sara's eyes but she put on a brave face, the smile she beamed at him both tender and sad. "I know. I miss you too, but you haven't got far to look to find me," she said brushing her finger to the tear in the corner of his eye. "I'm right here."

Grissom watched her, his expression growing serious while he pondered her words. "I've changed my mind," he said suddenly, and instinctively knowing what he was referring to, Sara turned away. "It's going to be okay," he said with assurance. His smile widened, Sara's faded.

"No," she begged weakly.

His eyes shone with hope and determination. He reached for her hand. "They've done more tests and-"

She whipped her head away, the fear in her eyes real and tangible. As were her tears. She felt betrayed, he could see it. Betrayed by the only person she could count on. She jerked her hand out of his. "No, Gil. You promised."

"I didn't promise anything," he said, anger rising in his voice. He caught himself and paused. "Sara, this new doctor, this neurosurgeon thinks that they-"

"I know what he thinks!" she snapped. "I was there!"

Grissom nodded, standing his round. "The new PET and CT scans shows some electrical impulses in the-"

Sara took in a deep fraught breath, her face scrunching and shaking wretchedly at his words. "I know what it shows, Gil, I was there!" she repeated angrily.

"I don't want you to let go," he continued vehemently, as though she was being difficult and refusing to cooperate. "I want you to fight this and come back to me. We can fight this together."

"Gil, I'm not sick! It's not like I'm deliberately-"

"I don't want to lose you," he cut in desperately, his refusal to accept the inevitable heart-breaking. "I just can't lose you," he choked. "I just can't."

"Gil-"

"No. Listen," he almost shouted. Her eyes filled again and she shook her head. "The neurosurgeon your brother's called is here," he repeated slowly and deliberately as though she couldn't have heard him right the first time. Why was she arguing with him about this for goodness sake? It was a lifeline, a reprieve. "He looked at your chart, at your scan results and he's done the tests again, because of the new peak. He thinks they did the first set of tests way too soon after-after... that they didn't give your brain enough time to recover from the trauma and the subsequent surgery and that they didn't get a true image of what's going on in your head."

He stared at her, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to come round to his way of thinking, and he tried to impart his strength, his renewed hope and beliefs, but instead all he saw reflected back at him was crushing disappointment, overwhelming betrayal and immeasurable sadness.

"We've gone over this," she sighed, her head shaking desolately. "We've already talked about this."

"What if you're not brain dead but in a coma?" he insisted, ignoring her protestations.

Sara's shaking of the head intensified. "No. The damage my brain sustained is real," she said in a small voice. "You know that. They said that too."

"What if you're wrong, Sara? You could wake and with time and therapy be fine."

She turned away, looking disgusted. "I knew it. I knew this would happen. That's why I had the papers done, Gil!" she exclaimed exasperatedly, meeting his gaze fiercely. "So you wouldn't have to do this. So you wouldn't have to second guess yourself. So you wouldn't have to second guess _me_."

"I love you." Sara opened her mouth to talk and then shut it with a pained sigh. "What are you afraid of?" he asked.

She flinched. "I'm not afraid," she replied defensively. "I'm not afraid."

"Sara…"

She sighed. "I'm not afraid of dying, Gil."

"No," he smiled sadly, "but you're afraid of living."

"If it means living like this, then yes, Gil, I'm petrified. Petrified," she repeated her voice rising, wobbling with emotion. "Can't you see? _This," _she said waving toward the room, toward the life support equipment, waving between them, "is not enough. It's not enough for me. It's never going to be enough!"

Grissom averted his gaze, hiding his tears, hiding his thoughts.

"And it wouldn't be enough for you," she said, reading them anyway. "I heard the doctors too, Gil. I'd most likely be unable to breathe on my own, or talk, or move and feel. Unable to walk or do any of the things I love doing. I'd be unable to hold you, love you…_be_ with you. I beg you, please."

Grissom refused to meet her gaze. "I can't do it, Sara."

She coaxed his face up and met his sad eyes. "Not even out of love for me?"

"No. Not even out of love for you," he replied sadly. "It's because I love you that I can't do what you're asking me to do. Can't you see that's exactly the reason why I can't do it? Because I love you so much that I can't bear the thought of losing you?"

"Gil, that's selfish love," Sara said, her voice suddenly tender as she framed his face with her hands, "and that's not you. That's not you and me, who we are, what we're about. We're so much more."

Grissom shook his head, closing his eyes. "I can't pull the plug on you." He shrugged and reopened his eyes, meeting her gaze dead on. "I just can't do it. I'm sorry. I'm not strong enough. I'm not the person you think I am."

"You're exactly the person I think you are."

"I can't let this be it for us. You waited years for me to be ready, years of heartache for a love you believed in more than I did at the time. Now I believe in it, it consumes me and I'm not giving up on you."

"You wouldn't be."

"I'm not ready to let you go – let you die."

Tears were shining in Sara's eyes. "But don't you see?" she whispered beseechingly, and he turned away. "You wouldn't let me die. You would set me free. You would end my pain and suffering - not my life!"

Grissom lifted sad resigned eyes to her and shook his head, silencing her. "No, Sara. I'd be killing you. Killing…us."

"There is no us," she almost shouted, her tears finally spilling. "Not anymore." She took a deep calming breath and stroked her hand to his face. "Not like it used to be," she added quietly, staring into his eyes. "You're confusing what we have now with reality, but none of this is real, Gil. It's all in there," she said, tapping his temple. "It's all in your head."

He closed his eyes, as tough he could just shut the voice off and his pain away.

"And in there," Sara added, and she placed her hand over his heart. She waited for him to reopen his eyes to shrug sadly. "We can never go back to what we had, that's gone, Gil. McKay took that from us. There's not going to be a miracle ending for me, Gil." Her face turned solemn, beseeching. "But I'll always be the sunlight on your face, and the rain on your shoes and the wind in your hair. I'll be there when you wake up and when you go to work. I'll be there when you go to sleep and I'll slip between the sheets in your dreams and you'll feel me smiling at you and you'll never be alone because you will be there in my arms and _I _will be there, always and for ever."

His head was shaking. "It wouldn't be you. It wouldn't be your warm body in my arms or your breath on my skin or your laughter in my ear. It wouldn't be enough, Sara. It could never be enough."

"That's right; it wouldn't be enough," she said finally. Her face took a distant turn and she leaned across and kissed him on the mouth, long and hard, desperate. "Be strong, Gil." Her smile came out like the sun and just as quickly it was gone. "Be strong, and be proud. Be proud of me," she whispered softly. "You are my one and only. The only home I ever had."

"Sara, no."

"Goodbye, my love," and just like that she slipped out of his grasp.

"No. Sara…" he cried out, and the tears came with her name, burning his eyes. "This is not how this is going to end," he almost shouted. "I will have my happy ending. I can feel it in my heart."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: If this was a book, you'd be counting how many pages are left until the end. The answer is, not many – three more chapters and then an epilogue. Thank you for sticking with this story. Some dialogue gratefully borrowed from episode 8.07 _Goodbye and Good Luck_ and sadly isn't mine.


	58. Chapter 58

A/N: I hope you like this chapter. I loved writing it, but I'm not sure I did the occasion justice.

Remember to keep a hanky nearby, just in case. There are some nasty colds going round at the moment. ;-)

* * *

"Gil!" Brass exclaimed cheerfully as soon as he opened the door. "I told you we'd find him here," he told his companion as an aside, and then, "We got some good news for you."

Slumped forward by Sara's side, Grissom mumbled but made no move. Repeatedly shaking his head from side to side as though trying to bury it into the bedcovers he suddenly let out a sharp cry.

"Gil?" Brass called anxiously, rushing over. "You okay, buddy?" He touched his friend lightly on the shoulder.

"I think he's...talking in his sleep," Laura said. "Maybe we shouldn't wake him."

"Gil?" Brass tried again, louder this time. He shook his friend's shoulder vigorously but unable to rouse him from his slumber, he looked over his shoulder at Laura and shook his head.

"Should I go and call someone?" she asked, alarm creeping into her voice.

He shrugged his reply, and turned back toward his friend. "Gil? Come on, buddy, wake up, it's me Jim," he almost shouted, unable to disguise his growing concern.

Grissom came to with a jolt, breathless. His head whipped up, his eyes snapping open startled, red-rimmed and wrung out with grief. Grief immediately made way to fear as he misinterpreted the deep-etched concern on his friend's face. "Warrick?"

Brass smiled warmly and shook his head. "No. Warrick's okay," he said, his hand giving another reassuring squeeze of his friend's shoulder. "He's still the same, stable."

Nodding his understanding Grissom blinked a few times and released the tight hold he had on Sara's hand so he could rub his weary face. Straightening himself up, he rolled his right shoulder a few times, easing its stiffness and repositioning the plaster cast. All the while frightened eyes darted round the room as he found his bearings, eventually coming to a rest on Sara's face, and he let out a long dreary breath. Brass had glimpsed despair in them, as well as bleak acceptance of his fate, and he sighed miserably.

"You…" he told him, trailing off with another sigh. He flashed a brief uneasy smile at Laura. "You were mumbling, arguing to yourself…" Grissom turned a puzzled frown at Brass as if he had trouble recollecting, and the captain's face softened, his shoulder lifting in a it's-no-big-deal shrug, "you cried out in your sleep, Gil."

"Oh." Grissom forced a smile and wiped the corner of his mouth while refocusing his gaze on Sara. He looked both crestfallen and confused. "I'm sorry. We were-I was…" he shook his head uncertainly.

"Hey, don't apologize," Brass cut in gently, picking up on Grissom's confusion. He lapsed into an awkward silence, wavering on his feet uneasily for a moment before throwing an anxious glance at Laura. Standing at the end of Sara's bed, she smiled reassuringly and motioned with widened eyes and a brisk nod of the head toward next door.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he went on, brightening up a little. "We got some good news." Grissom's head snapped round. "Ding, dong, the bitch is dead," he sang tunelessly with a put-on overly joyful face. Sadly, his news didn't have the expected cheering effect. Grissom stared back at him blankly and he sobered up almost instantly.

"McKay?" the CSI asked without emotion.

Who else? Brass thought, baffled by his friend's reaction – or lack of. He shrugged matter-of-factly, saying, "She died an hour ago. She didn't have any next-of-kins, so in the end…" He let out a quiet, disbelieving scoff and gave a sideways glance toward Laura. Head tilted to the side she was watching Grissom intently, fearful concern written all over her face. It was as though she could see something Brass didn't. "You'll never believe it," he continued, his glance flitting between Grissom and Laura with puzzlement, "but she was on the organ donation register. I pity the poor woman who's going to get her parts."

Grissom pursed his face, his mouth twisting at Brass's crassness. "It's a little…heartless, isn't it? Even for you."

Brass registered a look of sheer astonishment. "I can't say I'm sorry she's dead," he defended uneasily, "can you?"

Grissom returned his gaze on Sara and picked up her hand without commenting. Brass caught Laura's eye, silently pleading for help.

She cleared her throat. "In a way it's some justice that her death's not in vain," she said quietly, "and maybe of some comfort too." Brass stared at her with incredulity. She shrugged, explaining without a hint of malice or judgement in her voice, "There are some very worthy people on the organ transplant list, Captain Brass. People who are very sick and have waited years for their miracle and who without a transplant will die. They don't care where their second chance comes from."

Grissom listened to Laura's words but remained silent. He raised both his and Sara's entwined hands to his face, to his cheek, and closed his eyes, snuggling into them. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Brass's face scrunched with confusion. "Gil, you okay?" he asked, crouching next to his friend.

Grissom tilted his head toward Brass, nodding a weak reply but he didn't reopen his eyes. Brass caught a glimpse of fresh tear tracks and sighed, watching his friend for a moment with sorrow. What a dumb question to ask, he thought. Of course he wasn't okay. He could see it clearly now; contrary to what he had hoped, McKay's death would bring him no closure – none at all. The damage had already been done with devastating consequences and it would take a miracle – two miracles – for Grissom to begin to see the light – any light. His friend was clearly exhausted, drained of all strength, as if the will to fight – the will to live – had left him.

Growing more and more concerned by his friend's apathy, Brass bit back the next stupid question before it left his lips, and swallowing the tightness in his throat clapped Grissom's thigh encouragingly. Wanting to change tack, he leaned across, making eye contact. "You can't keep disappearing on them like that," he said softly, trying a playful tone, not quite succeeding.

"I didn't disappear," Grissom replied wearily, avoiding Brass's probing stare, "they know where I am."

Brass's smile widened affectionately. "Yes, they do, but you've been gone nearly two hours."

Looking pained, Grissom turned back toward Sara. "I fell asleep."

"Come on," Brass urged quietly, straightening up to his full height. "You know what they say about watching the phone and waiting for it to ring…" He smiled uneasily, glancing over at Laura. "We said we'd take you back."

Brass's words must have struck a chord with him because Grissom suddenly shook his head briskly, decisively. His eyes firmly on Sara, he took a deep breath and straightened his back, his shoulders squaring resolutely. His face set, he flicked his gaze to the lines on the monitor on the opposite side of the bed before turning it to Brass, his lips curving upward positively. His eyes shone brighter, clearer, untroubled, with a determined look about them. A look the detective had seen often enough when the CSI, the scientist was close to fitting the last piece of the puzzle. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders, as though he'd finally come to a decision, and Brass inwardly released the breath he'd been holding.

"You're right," Grissom exclaimed, wiping the tear marks off his face.

"I generally am," Brass replied easily, unsure as yet whether to rejoice at his friend's sudden change of mood but he couldn't help the pleased smile twisting his mouth. He moved behind the wheelchair ready to take him back to his room.

"No, Jim," Grissom said. "You're not taking me anywhere." Looking confused, Brass paused in his movement. "You're right though," Grissom continued, "sometimes you've got to be the one to make the call."

Brass shared a bewildered look with Laura. "I said that? You've lost me."

"He's lost both of us," Laura echoed.

Grissom looked at Laura, his smile broadening pleasurably. "There's something I got to do first," he told her excitedly. "Something I should have done a long time ago."

His enthusiasm was contagious and Laura giggled.

"Yeah? And what's that?" Brass asked, chuckling.

Grissom didn't reply. He turned back toward Sara and lapsed into silence, once again losing himself in her. Yet this time, the smile didn't leave his lips, the twinkle his eye, and he watched her with so much unbridled love, tenderness and happiness that Brass suddenly felt superfluous.

"Maybe we should leave," Laura whispered in his ear, echoing his thoughts. "Give him a little longer with Sara."

Still watching his friend fondly Brass nodded his agreement. "Do you want us to leave?" he asked, touching him on the arm, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Grissom refocused his gaze and shook his head, his smile broadening almost mischievously. "No. I'd like you to stay." He glanced back at Sara, arching his brow as if checking with her whether she agreed. Then he nodded briskly to himself – or to her, Brass wondered – and blew out a sharp breath. "I should have been brave enough to do this months ago when I had the chance," he said, laughing now and Brass couldn't be sure whether he was addressing him and Laura, or Sara. Grissom's face became solemn as he turned watery eyes to Brass, and then to Laura. "I'd like for you both to stay," he said quietly, "so that the two of you can bear witness to our union."

Laura gasped, a shaky hand flying to her mouth while Brass stared at Grissom, dumbstruck.

Grissom eased his left hand under his legs, carefully lifting each in turn and lowering his feet off the wheelchair's metal footplates onto the floor. He pushed up onto wobbly legs using his good hand and the edge of the bed as leverage. He swayed uncertainly for an instant and Brass moved to support him but Grissom raised a stubborn hand, stopping him. He took a breath, pushing the pain aside and looked at Brass in the eye, smiling.

"It's now or never, Jim," he said, as if still mustering courage. "Now or never." He shrugged a helpless shoulder, his next words coming thick and fast, uncensored. "You're the closest to a best friend I've ever had…and over the past few years you've been like a father to Sara. I know how you've looked out for her when I didn't, and…" his voice broke and he cleared it, forcing his smile, shrugging again. He blinked his happy tears away before licking his quivering lips, adding, "I can't think of a better man I'd want by our side now." His smile quavered, his eyes pleading earnestly. "Would you do that for us, Jim? Would you be my best man, our witness?"

Tears prickling at the back of his eyes, Brass swallowed the unexpectedness of Grissom's request and nodded solemnly. "It would be my greatest honour," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

"Laura," Grissom said without missing a beat, turning toward Sara's mother, "would you be Sara's?"

Laura's eyes were already swimming with tears and her breath caught at his words, a tear rolling down the side of her nose. She snapped her head round to her daughter and watched her intently, smiling wistfully through her tears. "I-I don't know," she said in a fraught whisper. "I'm not sure she'd have wanted me to." She wiped a knuckle under her eye.

Smiling, Grissom touched Sara's face and shook his head softly. "I think she would have. I _know_ she would have. Sara's good – she has a good heart." His eyes welled up. "She sees the good in people and she would have seen the good in you." He turned shiny eyes to Laura and her wobbly smile widened. "Given the chance she'd have gotten to see the real you – I'm sure of it."

Laura looked over at Brass, her tears spilling freely and he shrugged, awkwardly smiling his encouragement. She turned back to Grissom, her face lit up with the brightest, happiest, proudest grin, and Brass felt a pang of sadness that he would never get to see that same beautiful grin on Sara's face again. He looked at his friend whose wistful expression as he stared back at Laura mirrored his own perfectly and then at Sara, and felt crushing sadness as he wondered whether she knew what was happening around her.

Laura took the hand Brass proffered, both smiling as they moved to the opposite side of the bed from Grissom. Grissom picked up Sara's hand and was taking a deep breath about to start when Laura did a sudden double take and tugged at Brass's hand, excitedly whispering in his ear, "The ring! We forgot about the ring!"

The emotional captain let out a small disbelieving chuckle and shoved his hand in his right pants pocket. A look of panic flashed across his face and he tried his left pocket, blowing a short relieved breath as he retrieved the ring. He cleared his throat, interrupting Grissom's start. "Isn't it tradition when you marry a girl for the groom to have a ring?" he asked with laughter in his voice.

Grissom's eyes were fixed on Sara, and he shook his head uncertainly. "What?"

Brass waited for his friend to look at him before lifting the ring in his eye line. "I believe this is yours," he said, grinning.

Grissom's heart visibly leapt inside him, and he swayed uncertainly on his feet with evident shock. His breath caught as he stared at his grandmother's ring with both wonderment and incredulity before lifting questioning eyes to his friend. Brass's pleased smile spoke volume and he held out his hand across the bed, jangling the ring in the palm of his hand. "It _is _yours, isn't it?" he asked teasingly.

Grissom's eyes filled, trembling fingers moving to Brass's palm but he didn't take the ring. "How?" he gasped. "Where-?" his voice trailed off, catching. He reached back with his hand before dropping down onto the chair.

Brass and Laura shared a look, and Brass winked. "It's all Laura," he said.

To Grissom's overwhelmed look, she pinched her lips, saying self-consciously, "It's a long story."

"Don't be modest," Brass said.

Grissom's eyes were pleading with her to explain and she nodded. "I spent a little time by your bedside yesterday, you know, after McKay was caught and I guess the drugs made you delirious because you talked in your sleep. At first I couldn't make out much of what you said but after a while I realised they were always the same words: Sara, McKay and a ring."

"I don't understand," Grissom said, his gaze flicking to Brass, "You said McKay's things are in evidence and that the ring wasn't there."

"They are, and it wasn't."

"When McKay came to see Sara at the hospital in Vegas," Laura continued, "when she pretended to be your friend Catherine, she wore the ring on her finger. She showed it to me. Sara's grandmother, on her father's side, had a similar one – it's made from a local stone, which I recognised – and McKay was only too happy to show it off to me." Laura closed her eyes, shaking her head sadly at the memory. "I saw the inscription inside, Mr Grissom, I read it," she added reopening her eyes and holding Grissom's gaze meaningfully. "Of course at the time I didn't know it was yours. I didn't know she'd taken it from you. I'm sorry."

"But how?" Grissom asked again, the tremor in his voice betraying his happiness at having the ring back.

Her cheeks turning a delicate and embarrassed red, Laura gave a sideways, slightly shifty glance toward Brass, pinching her lips to stop the grin from escaping. "I broke the law," she said at last, in a hushed whisper so that Brass wouldn't hear. He let out a chuckle. "When I realised what McKay had done I took back what was rightfully yours and Sara's. The bag of clothes was in her room, on the bed – that was before she came back from surgery – it was just lying there, unattended, so I took the ring back. I wanted to give it to you as soon as you woke up but…" her words drifted off, her expression darkening, and Grissom nodded his understanding. She'd obviously taken it to a jeweller's to have it cleaned. "I only got it back an hour ago."

Brass coughed and pulled at the collar of his shirt, feigning uneasiness. "As far as PD's concerned, there never was a missing ring." He looked down to his hand and studied the ring intently. "So? Do you want it?" he quipped. "It's not too late to get cold feet." He regretted his jibe as soon as it left his lips but Grissom laughed and Brass once more relaxed.

"No cold feet," his friend said, sobering up solemnly, and Laura wiped a tear. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." He pulled himself up to his feet again, closing his eyes at the pain, letting it wash over him before reopening his eyes and smiling tenderly. He swallowed and took Sara's hand in his, brushing the tip of her fingers with his thumb back and forth a few times. Brass glanced at Laura and smiled.

"Sara, my love," Grissom began, clearing his throat. Brass's head snapped back toward his friend. "When it comes to you – to us – I have many regrets. For years you left me baffled, doubtful, unable to believe that what you felt for me, what you were offering me was…love. I was unable to embrace that love and see how my life would be enriched by it, and more importantly I was unable to return it – not because I didn't feel it but because I didn't know how to. For years I kept you at arm's length simply because I was scared, terrified of letting you into my life, into my heart – where you belong – afraid of getting hurt, and hurting _you_ in the process. I regret the many times I simply said "No" because it was easier that way, less complicated, less risky. I can – we can never have that time back. For years I denied us both love and happiness and for that I am truly sorry."

Brass watched with rapt fascination. Never had he heard his friend speak so freely, so eloquently and reverently, so lovingly about his feelings – let alone for a woman, and in front of witnesses. He turned away, blinking back his tears.

"Sara, you are the one who taught me about unconditional love," Grissom went on in a quiet voice as if it was only the two of them in the room, "you showed me a love so pure and transcendent that I know that not even death can come between it and us." He paused, watching Sara tenderly, and feeling the need to share his happiness, his pride, Brass reached out his hand to Laura's. She registered a look of surprise before returning Brass's gentle squeeze with a bright smile.

"There is nothing to fear," Grissom continued, "for I am here beside you for the rest of my life, for the rest of our life I am yours. Whatever the outcome, whatever happens next, we'll be forever joined in my heart. I love you Sara. You are my one and only." He paused, and looked up to the ceiling as though doing a mental check that he'd covered everything. Finally he turned toward Brass and with a helpless shrug and an awkward smile raised Sara's hand in the air and then his plastered arm.

Completely oblivious to Grissom's predicament, Brass smiled back encouragingly. Laura leaned over to his ear. "I think it's your big moment," she said.

"Oh." Brass did a double take, quickly covering the distance to the other side of the bed, wrapping an arm around Grissom's shoulder. "Sorry, buddy," he said, "I've never done this before." He held out the ring while glancing across at Laura and smiling proudly.

"You're going to have to help me out here," Grissom said, laughing as he gently placed Sara's hand in the detective's and took the ring. He looked down at his trembling hand and fingered the ring for a moment before turning back toward Sara's face. Smiling he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and brought the ring to his lips. He whispered a few words Brass didn't catch and kissed the ring softly. "I'm ready," he said finally.

Brass felt as nervous as if he was in the process of walking Sara down the aisle. He nodded and reverently lifted Sara's hand toward Grissom who gently eased the ring on her finger before rotating it slowly until it sat perfectly square. Tears shimmering in his eyes, he glanced up at Brass before turning back toward Sara's face. Bending down, he kissed her forehead and keeping his lips on her skin, murmured, "The brightest stars you see at night are already dead but you'll always be alive in my heart." He took in a breath, closing his eyes, adding, "Sleep tight, my beating heart."

Happy tears running freely, Brass clapped his friend on the shoulder with pride. "I'm proud of you, Gil," he said. Hearing a sniffle escape from Laura, Brass quickly swiped his hand over his eyes and turned toward her with a smile.

"It was beautiful," she cried, reaching for Sara's other hand and squeezing.

Grissom straightened up, turning toward Brass and Laura. Tears hovered in his eyes but he smiled through them, nodding his gratitude. His smile was sad, laden, accepting of his uncertain future and yet he looked strangely happy, liberated, and…_proud_.

Brass swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled his friend into a warm embrace. "Sara knows how much you love her," he said, "how much we all love her. Don't lose hope."

Grissom pulled back. "She's not going to wake Jim," he said quietly, without a trace of sadness or regret. "She's not going to wake because she doesn't want to." A look of pained confusion filled Brass's face. "But it's okay," his friend continued brightly, "I'm okay with it. It's my turn to wait, like she waited for me all these years. This isn't the end, it's just a…" words failed him and he shrugged.

"An interlude?" Brass hazarded.

Grissom shook his head. "A new beginning."

* * *

Tbc.


	59. Chapter 59

"Knock, knock," a chirpy voice called from the other side of the curtain. "You decent?"

Grissom looked up from the newspaper spread out in front of him and swallowing the last of his mouthful of Jell-O wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "We are decent ninety-nine per cent of the time, when we could easily be vile," he replied, his tone light and jovial. He removed his reading glasses and placed them on the sliding table next to his breakfast tray.

"I'll take that as a yes," Brass said, grinning as he popped his head round the curtain before pulling it back in a sweeping gesture, revealing a wheelchair. "Voilà," he said, entering Grissom's confined space on the orthopaedic ward. His brow arched. "You done with breakfast?"

Grissom looked down at his food with disgust. "Yeah."

"Good." Brass threw Grissom a joyful wink and reached over to grab a triangle of dry toast. He took a bite. "Because you and I buddy, are going on a trip."

Grissom's face lit up with undisguised delight. "Warrick?"

"The one and only," the captain replied, chewing, hiding behind a quick smile the fact that Sara's name hadn't been the first to cross his friend's lips. "And he'd dying to see you." He bent down to put the brakes on the chair and let out a deep breath, sobering up. "Pardon the pun." He straightened up, lifting an apologetic shoulder.

His eyes shining with relief and happiness at Brass's good news, Grissom waved his friend's apology off. "And he's okay?"

Brass slowly finished chewing, choosing his words with care. "He's awake," he replied with a sigh. "He's very weak but he's been asking after you."

Grissom grimly nodded his understanding. "Can you help me into the chair?" he said eager to get moving. He used his good hand to edge himself to the side of the bed and swing his legs over. "We're going to have to make it quick, though," he added, as Brass half-lifted, half-dropped him into the chair. "I'm supposed to be seeing Dr Fournier some time this morning."

Brass frowned. "Dr Fournier?"

"My legs," the CSI explained. "I should have had surgery on them a couple of days ago."

"Oh." Brass released the brakes, sighing. He clapped his friend on the shoulder, back-pedalling miserably, "Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. Warrick's not going anywhere. I'm sure-"

"No way, Jim," Grissom interrupted, glancing over his shoulder toward his friend. "You're taking me there, and now. We'll just stop to tell one of the nurses on the way."

After doing just that – and promising not to be longer than half-an-hour or put any pressure on his legs – Grissom with Brass's help made his way to ICU. "Only two visitors are allowed at any one time," Brass said as they came out of the elevator, "and Tina's here."

Grissom looked back over his shoulder and caught Brass's eye. "Thank you," he said, his voice breaking a little. He reached back to pat his friend warmly on the hand. "I mean it, Jim. Thank you for everything."

Brass gave a solemn nod of the head in reply. "Don't go all sentimental on me now," he said, allowing a smile to crease his weary face. "People are already saying I'm going soft." He stared at Grissom a while longer before adding quietly, "Don't mention it."

Children's laughter coming from his left caught Grissom's attention and he turned. A little girl no older than three sat perched on her father's shoulders, small hands holding fistfuls of his hair as she pulled his head back toward her. She leaned forward to whisper loudly into his ear and he laughed. Grissom was struck by how much that little girl looked like her mother. Izzie, her name was, he remembered. A boy stood nearby. He was counting money to feed into the chocolate machine. Smiling at the scene Grissom caught Brass's eye, indicating with a wave of his hand that he wanted to be taken there.

Brass frowned but did as he was bid. "The Jell-O not filled you up?" he asked with a smile, reaching into his pocket for some change.

"What?" Grissom shook his head, once more focusing on the detective. "No. I – it won't take a moment." He cleared his throat. "Duke?" he then called, loud enough to be heard over the little girl's giggle. The man turned and frowned. "Hi. I don't know if you'll rem-"

"I remember you," Duke said.

Grissom's smile wavered. "Ho-How's Clara?" Tears sprang in Duke's eyes causing Grissom's heart to sink in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, bringing a shaky hand to his mouth.

"Oh, no," Duke said emphatically. The little girl leaned down and wrapped her arms around her father's throat. He smiled. "They're happy tears," he told Grissom. "I don't seem to be able to stop them flowing." Grissom lifted puzzled eyes to Duke. "They've found a donor heart for Clara," he explained quickly, his words catching. "A match. We waited so long and then it all happened just so quickly."

"Oh, that's..." Grissom blew out a long relieved breath, blinking back his tears, "It's great." His joy was short-lived though as he suddenly wondered about the timing of McKay's death and Clara getting her new heart. He swallowed, forcing a smile. "Do you happen to know who-where...?"

Duke shook his head and wiped his face on his sleeve. "They don't tell you, do they? And of course I feel sorry for the other family but..." he smiled widely, shrugging the rest of his sentence off and Grissom nodded his head in understanding.

"And the surgery went well?" he asked tentatively.

"So far, so good," Duke replied tearfully. He reached a hand back to rub the back of his neck and shifted the little girl higher onto his shoulders.

"I love you, daddy," she said leaning down to speak into her father's ear.

"I love you too, sweetie," Duke replied, looking up to his daughter fondly.

"Dad?" the boy said. "Can we go back now? I want to see mommy."

Duke smiled and ruffled his son's hair. "Yeah." He turned back to address Grissom. "We're only up here because of the chocolate machine."

Grissom nodded. "Pass on my best wishes to Clara, will you? I-I…" Words failed him, and he shrugged, "I'm happy for you."

"Come by to see her in a few days," Duke said, picking up on Grissom's unease. "She's not woken up yet from the surgery and access is restricted because of the risks of infections but I know that once she's…you know…better, she'd be glad to see you." The boy tugged at his father's hand impatiently. "We'd better go," he said.

Grissom nodded and watched as the small family laughed their way to the elevator.

"Who's Clara?" Brass asked when they were out of earshot.

"She's a friend," he replied, looking over his shoulder toward Brass and smiling broadly.

The elevator doors pinged and opened and Matthew stepped out as Duke and family got in. Grissom tensed up, his smile vanishing instantly. Sara's brother made brief eye contact, acknowledging the pair with a curt nod of the head before turning on his heels, headed down the corridor toward Sara's room.

Brass's hand fell to Grissom's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," he replied tiredly. "Come on, let's go see Warrick."

Propped up against a couple of pillows Warrick was awake, if looking heavy-eyed and weak. An IV dripped into his arm and he had an oxygen mask over his mouth. As soon as he caught sight of Grissom, his eyes lit up, his face creased into a small smile. He raised a shaky hand off the bed, first beckoning his friends closer and then waving it feebly at the mask. Tina sprang up to her feet and eased the mask to the side of her husband's mouth.

"Griss…" Warrick rasped breathily.

"Hey," Grissom smiled softly, too overwhelmed to say or do more than that. His eyes shone with tears of joy. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've slept for a thousand years," Warrick said in a weak whisper.

Grissom's smile widened and he nodded emphatically. "I know the feeling."

Tina squeezed Warrick's hand and he turned toward her. "I'm going to go get some coffee," she told him quietly, "leave you to catch up."

"Okay."

"You don't have to," Brass told Tina. "I'm not staying."

"It's okay." She bent to kiss Warrick on the cheek, catching Grissom's eye as she straightened up. She smiled. "I hope Sara pulls through," she told him warmly.

Grissom pinched his lips, nodding his head at her words, watching as she left the room.

"Tina, wait up!" Brass said. He touched his friend on the shoulder, saying in his ear, "I'll have a word with Tina and then I'll go say 'Hi' to Sara. Let me know when you're ready to head back." Grissom nodded and turned back toward Warrick.

"Jim told me about McKay," Warrick said as the door closed. "Ironic, or what?"

* * *

The morning sun shone brightly through the open blinds, too brightly, and Laura made a beeline to close them. Her headache, a sharp throbbing behind her eyes that had taken hold during the night, wouldn't relent, no doubt compounded by the fact that she hadn't managed to catch a reprieve from the terrible, truly dreadful thoughts tossing in her head. She squinted at the light, shuddering at the wan face that stared back at her in the windowpane and angrily wiped it dry with both hands before yanking the chord on the blinds, plunging the room in almost total darkness but for the greenish hue of the machines.

"He's given up hope," she said almost inaudibly, for the first time turning toward Sara. Her words caught and tears started again. "He knows you're not coming back to him – to us," she continued, in a quiet sob, blinking her tears, willing them back. She covered the distance to the bed and took her daughter's hand in hers, squeezing it with all her might. "Oh, Sara, it was there in his eyes when he was slipping the ring on your finger…" she shook her head, sniffling, stroking shaky fingers to the ring on Sara's finger, "the heartbreak, the bleak acceptance, the resignation that this is it, that _this_ is the best it's ever going to get. But that's not a life, is it? For neither of you."

She wiped her face again and looked down, lapsing into silence, smiling wistfully as she stared at the ring. "I think that with this ring he tried to show you his commitment, his love for you, that whether you wake or not, he'll always be there by your side." She cleared her voice and continued her tone harsher now. "But you gave him nothing in return. Not a flicker of hope, not a single sign that you knew what was happening around you. Nothing. And silence speaks louder than words, doesn't it? I should know."

She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at the life support machine, thinking how easy it would be for her to end everyone's pain and suffering. "He would do anything for you, anything you asked…but what you're asking now is just…it's not fair. It's too much. How can you ask him to end your life?"

She smiled and watched her daughter fondly, the tears rolling down her face unremitting. After a while her face hardened considerably, her smile fading as her tears dried. "It's only a matter of time before he breaks down though, isn't it? Before you wear down his resolve? He may not be ready to do it today, or tomorrow, or even next week, but he will, and we both know that." She smiled through her tears, it was all so clear to her. "But I can't let him destroy his life for you, Sara. I just can't."

The door opened abruptly, startling Laura away from the bed. Her head whipped round to the man at the door. "Matthew!" she rasped in a surprised gasp, wiping a rough hand over her eyes to erase the look of shameful guilt he was bound to notice in them. She tried a smile, swiping at her face again and but her tears were coming harder and faster and she turned away.

Hand poised on the door handle Matthew's face lit up with a bitter smirk. "My mother, the killer," he hissed in a cold whisper, stepping in and closing the door quietly after him. It was as though he could read the turmoil in her mind.

Laura's heart clenched in her chest and she swallowed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, willing her tears to subside and herself to be calm and strong. She had as much right to be there as him and she would not give him the satisfaction of letting his animosity and hatred get to her. She tightened her grip on Sara's hand and cleared her throat. "The nurse says that there's no change in her condition," she said, unable to disguise the heartbreak from her voice.

Matthew registered a look of surprise, his sneer going unnoticed. He certainly wasn't about to put her right; let her wallow in her misery, he thought. He narrowed his eyes, watching the back of her head for a moment. Then he walked up to her side and made a show of smelling the air around her. Making eye contact, he curled his lips into a chilling smile. "JD? No," he laughed, "the old favourite, Jamieson."

"I haven't touched a drop," Laura defended heatedly, his comment like a second stab through the heart.

"Maybe not today," he conceded coldly. Unconsciously, Laura began to finger Sara's ring nervously. "What's this?" he asked, his eyes thinning to two small slits.

Laura followed his eyes to the bed, instinctively covering the ring with her hand as though Matthew might just pounce and rip the ring off Sara's finger. "It's nothing."

"I don't think so," he spat. He reached over, forcefully yanking Sara's hand out of his mother's grasp to study the ring. Laura dropped her gaze to Sara's face, and pinched her lips to stop them quavering. Matthew smirked, "It's his, isn't it?"

Laura's tears began to flow again. "Does it matter?"

Matthew didn't reply. Laura glanced at her son from the corner of her eye, noticing the sudden far-away look on his face. She was about to speak when he asked, "When?"

"Why?" she asked him.

"No reason." Matthew shook his head briskly before meeting her gaze dead on. "It's a case of…too little too late, isn't it? It stinks of desperation."

"On the contrary," Laura defended, her words slipping out of her before she could censor them. "It's a promise, a pledge of his undying love for her. It-"

Matthew's disbelieving snort of laughter cut her off. "Are you hearing yourself talk?" he exclaimed. "I can't believe you're preaching to me about love. You don't know anything about love!"

"Do _you_?" she bit back angrily. She took a few fraught breaths that did nothing to calm her and more tears fell. But once the floodgates were open, there was no stopping her. "Isn't it a little too late for you too?" she asked accusingly. "Too late for this…this grand display of brotherly love? Where were you when she needed you, huh? Did you take care of her then?" Matthew dropped his gaze to the floor. "Well, did you?" she asked again. He didn't reply. "You abandoned her, Matthew. You abandoned her and that's why you're here, now. You're here because you can't live with your guilt any longer. Well, welcome to the club, Matthew because that makes two of us. But sadly it's too little, too late."

"I didn't abandon her," he retorted.

Laura laughed emptily through her tears. "Didn't you?" She paused, letting her words sink. "From what I understand, you broke all contact with her as soon as you could. You upped and went, moved as far as you could to the other side of the country, leaving her to fend for herself. You and I are the same, Matthew," she continued desolately, "and that's why you hate me so much. We abandoned her. _We_ _abandoned_ her. The only one that's been there for Sara is Sara, and Mr Grissom."

"Still, what he did doesn't change a thing," he said. "It's meaningless. It's got no legal value, no-"

"You're missing the point!" Laura almost shouted, her exasperation getting the better of her.

"What _is _the point?" he asked calmly, fixing her with a hard stare.

Laura wiped her face and shook her head, turning away. "What do I need to do to prove to you that I've changed? That I'm not that woman who killed your father anymore? That I only want what's best for Sara?"

Matthew laughed. "Oh, I know about what you did. How you saved Sara from the hands of that…nurse." His laughter turned chilling. "My mother, the hero," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

Laura made to touch him on the arm but he flinched away. "Matthew listen," she pleaded sniffing as she closed her eyes, calmer now. "I know that you can never bring yourself to forgive me." She shrugged, resigned. "I've not been a good mother to you or Sara. I know that. I accept that, and the fact that you will never love me but please, stop the court proceedings." He scoffed at her words but she continued regardless. "I won't fight your decisions. But please, don't push aside Mr Grissom. He loves Sara very much; she means everything to him and he's always done good for her and by her. He doesn't deserve to be treated like he doesn't matter. He loves Sara," she repeated earnestly, "he wants her to wake as much as you do."

"Yes, he does," Matthew replied evenly, "but he doesn't believe she will. And what if she doesn't wake?" He paused, his words hanging in the air for a moment. "He told Alicia, my attorney, that he'd fight me in court so that the terms of Sara's living will _are_ respected. He loves her so much that he doesn't want her to live." He let out a disbelieving chuckle. "He wants to pull the plug on her, he wants her to die, and I won't let that happen."

His voice was calm, measured, seemingly unconcerned by Grissom's threat. His face suddenly lit up with wicked pleasure. "And as soon as I've had your next-of-kinship revoked, and believe me that's a mere formality given your record, it'll be him against me, and I've the law on my side." He glanced at the ring. "He should have married her when it still mattered. Now, it means_ nothing_," he said, spitting the word as though it was filth.

Laura flinched at the vehemence of his hatred. "How can you be so heartless, so spiteful?"

He pursed his face in a wry smirk. "You haven't seen anything yet." Laura watched helplessly as he turned on his heels, headed for the door before stopping abruptly. "Oh, and you can stay," he added, with a glance over his shoulder, "for now. But make the most of it because by the end of the day, I'll be in possession of Sara's full powers of attorney."

He held Laura's watery gaze with a hard one of his own. His eyes were dark and cold, unfriendly, and the spiteful upturn of his lips said it all. She would not win this fight. Fighting to keep a shred of dignity and pride Laura held his gaze but inside the light had gone out. She'd put up a good front but in the end that's all it was. As the door shut behind her son, violent tears overtook her and she let her sobs rack her as the enormity of what she was about to do began to take hold.

* * *

Tbc.

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A/N: Grissom's quote about decency is by R W Riis.


	60. Chapter 60

A/N: There will be one final chapter after this one, and then the epilogue. I know I said this would be the final chapter but the story doesn't _feel_ complete to me if I end it there, even with an epilogue afterwards. I hope you'll agree.

* * *

Time stood still for a long while after Matthew left. Laura eventually calmed, her loud sobs gradually replaced by the quiet, regular whooshing of the ventilator. Its sound filled the room, reverberating all around and yet far from soothing it seemed to bounce off the walls, off the ceiling, echoing with such deafening intensity in her head that it obliterated every thought but one.

Her breathing slowed until it matched perfectly the gentle rhythm of the machine. She became fixated by the green lines on the monitor, hypnotised by their steady pattern. She stared blindly as tears blurred the lines before screwing her face at the sharp piercing in her heart that wouldn't let up. She shook her head, clenching her eyes shut, trying to clear her vision and the turmoil in her head, but to no avail**. **

Clearly on the edge of hysteria, she bit down hard, taking a few fraught breaths through her nose as she fought to control the sobbing that once again threatened to overtake her. Resolute, she once more fixed her eyes on Sara's face. Her hands shook uncontrollably making her movements jerky, clumsy and imprecise as she brought them up.

_This is what Sara wants,_ she kept telling herself. She willed herself to be strong and concentrated all her senses one that one thought; it was what Sara wanted. One hand tightened around the breathing tube, the other over the mouthpiece as she prepared to pull the tube out. _I'm doing the right thing,_ she told herself. _I'm doing this for Sara. _

"This is what you want, isn't it, sweetheart?" she whispered lovingly. She smiled a wobbly smile, and turned a hopeful look at the monitor. "Isn't it?" she asked again, waiting. Sara's silence spoke louder than words and Laura nodded solemnly. "I thought so."

She smiled again, tilting her head to the side as fond recollections of the day Sara was born filled her. Sara, the long-awaited miracle, a beautiful baby daughter, already long and scrawny, had screamed her little lungs out as soon as she had taken her first breath. She had been placed on her mother's breast, still covered in blood and vernix, that white creamy substance that covered new-born babies, tiny fists clenched tightly as her body quivered, shaking with the intensity of her cries. There had been complications after Matthew's birth and yet Sara had come, defying all the odds. She'd come early, eager to see the world and right from the very start her vivacity, strength and determination had shone through and set her apart.

Lost in her joyful memories, Laura didn't hear the cheerful knock on the door, a knock full of promise and good news. "Laura!" Brass said on entering the room, his tone upbeat. "I didn't think I'd find you here already."

Her back to him, Laura flinched, his voice drawing her back to her grim reality but she did not release the hold she had on Sara's breathing tube. She clenched her eyes shut, her voice a barely audible whisper when she said, "Don't come near." She sniffed, turning over her shoulder to look at Brass, and smiled through her tears. "Please, don't come near."

Brass's good mood vanished instantly, his face darkening gloomily as he took stock of the situation. After a quick glance up and down the corridor he shut the door quietly and waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the room to make a move. "Laura," he said, alarm creeping into his voice. "Please, don't do this; let go of the tube."

Her chest heaving with each fraught breath, she kept her eyes on Sara and shook her head briskly at his words.

Brass felt his hand to the wall and flicked the lights on abruptly, causing Laura to wince painfully. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen; her cheeks streaked with tears tracks. She looked gaunt and for the first time he noticed how much weight she had lost since he had first met her. Keeping his distance he let out a long breath and raised a comforting left hand toward her, his right hand instinctively moving to his hip. Not that he would have wanted to draw his weapon on Laura even if he had been carrying. "Laura, please," he repeated calmly, "let go of the tube; this isn't the way."

"I can't let him do it," she said out of the blue, staring at Brass through a wall of tears.

Frowning with confusion and his hand still raised placatory toward her Brass took a tentative step closer. "You can't let who do what?" he asked quietly, biding for time. There was no panic, no urgency in his voice or in his moves. "Was Matthew here? Did he say something that upset you?" His smile was warm, full of concern. "Are you talking about the court proceedings? Is that it? Because if it is-"

"I can't let him ruin what he's got with her," she continued in a mournful voice and Brass stopped short, baffled by her words.

"Laura, please," he tried again, "you're upset; you're not seeing clearly. Let's…not do anything rash here. Just step away from the bed."

"His integrity, his love for Sara," she went on as though he hadn't spoken.

Brass paused, his mind working overtime to catch up with her. "Are you talking about Grissom?" he asked, his frown deepening.

She nodded distractedly. More tears fell and she sniffed. "I can't let him soil his memories of her and of what they have together – had together," she amended in a fraught whisper.

"I don't understand, Laura. You're not making sense," he said, although sadly he was beginning to understand what she was doing and who she was doing it for. He sighed. "Just – let's…just take a moment. Let's talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk about."

"Let me take you for a coffee. Two friends sharing a coffee." He edged closer the bed, his seemingly cool and composed expression still firmly in place. "You'll feel better about things then."

Her eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance she shook her head. "I can't."

"You and me," he insisted, waving his hand back and forth, his tone warm and controlled. "We're friends, aren't we? We shared something special last night, didn't we?" He paused, dipping his head to make eye contact. "Just – let's keep this between ourselves. No harm's done; no one needs to know. We can…talk about it, but not here. Let's not do this in front of Sara." He stopped again, hoping this last comment would elicit a positive reaction from her. It didn't. "Laura, please."

"No," she simply replied, refocusing her bleary gaze on the detective. She smiled sadly at his kindness. He swallowed the lump in his throat at the resignation he read in her eyes. "I understand now," she added. "This is how it was meant to end. This is why I am here."

That last comment left Brass speechless; he opened his mouth to talk but no words came out.

She shrugged matter-of-fact as if that explained everything, as if what she was doing was the most natural thing for a mother to do. "It's what Sara wants. It's what she wants me to do."

"No, Laura," he said, dejectedly.

"She needs me. She needs me to be there for her. She needs her mother. You've got to understand, Captain Brass that I've not been a good mother to her. But now I can; I can be a mother to her; I can do this one last thing for her. I abandoned her once and I'm _not_ going to do it again."

"Laura, this isn't the way," Brass argued with renewed conviction. He took another small step closer, wondering whether he could charge and overpower her before she could disconnect the tube. Unwilling to take that risk and feeling he had the situation under control he decided to continue talking Laura out of her folly. "There are other ways, better ways for you to show Sara those things," he added, edging a little closer still.

She drew back slightly but kept her grip on the breathing tube. "Don't come closer, please."

Now in full police negotiator mode, Brass raised his hand in a placating gesture, nodding at her. "I won't." He smiled reassuringly, trying a new approach. "You heard what the doctors said. Sara's show-"

"I did," she interrupted earnestly, "and that's why I've got no choice but to do this now. What if they downgrade her condition to a persistent vegetative state, huh? What then? Sara made her wishes clear and I've got to speak for her. If_ I_ don't do it, _he_ will and I can't let him do that."

"You're wrong," he insisted. "Grissom could _never_ pull the plug on Sara. _Never. _It's not in him to do that."

"I saw it in his eyes."

Brass shook his head slowly, and he smiled. "No. What you saw in his eyes was love and raw pain and heartbreak too. And acceptance," he added quietly. "I saw it too. But it was acceptance of his fate, not of her death. Believe me Grissom does _not _want Sara to die."

"But don't you see?" she said in a sob, not hearing his words. "It's only a matter of time before he frees her from this. And I can't let him do that. I can't let him taint his memories, tarnish his love for Sara."

"You're mistaken," said Brass, confidently. "I know Gil. He couldn't do it, not like that." He motioned toward the machines. "He'd go to the courts. He'd fight your son through the courts but he wouldn't just pull the plug on her like that. Not when there's still a chance – a chance that she might wake up." Laura's shake of the head was so sad, so sure and definite that Brass stopped short. He sighed and watched her with infinite sadness.

"Mr Grissom's not Sara's next-of-kin," she went on. "In the eyes of the law he has no rights. No rights to decide Sara's fate, her future."

"But you have," Brass argued quietly.

Laura smiled sadly and shook her head. "I gave up those rights a long time ago."

"Not in the eyes of the law," Brass countered kindly.

"Matthew's got a good case against me," she said, resigned. "I have no choice." She stared directly at Brass as she said those words and he could see in her expression that she truly believe that. And yet he knew that if she had really meant to terminate Sara's life she would have done it by now. No, in his eyes, Laura was a broken, misguided and grieving woman who at this moment in time was acting out of deep sorrow and despair. She wasn't rational.

"Matthew's got the law on his side," she was now saying. "You of all people should know that. He's going to get his way. His character is untarnished. Mine is…" she shrugged, "I'm a convicted murderer. My views will – can never count."

"We'll make them count. Gil knows people. We both do – people in high places, people who can help."

"It would take years," Laura insisted. More tears spilled from her eyes and she turned toward Sara, her face turning wistful. "Years of pain and suffering. And I promised Sara no more pain."

"The doctors say Sara's not in pain, Laura," Brass said. "She doesn't – can't – feel pain. She doesn't know what's happening to her." Exasperation betrayed his formerly gentle and compassionate tone. "Laura, listen to me. Don't throw your life away. Don't do this. Please."

"What about _our_ pain and suffering?"

"You'd only be showing your son he was right," he said trying a new argument. "That you _are_ nothing but a murderer, and a cold-blooded one at that. What about all you told me, huh? About having changed, about not being that woman anymore, about wanting to make amends." She dismissed his words with a shake of the head. "You'd be going back to jail Laura, and I'd be the one to take you in." He lifted a sad shoulder. "And I don't want to do that."

Her face lit up with a bitter smile. "I have no doubt Matthew would fight so I got the death penalty. But Captain, here on the outside or in jail, what you and him don't understand is that I'm already serving a life sentence."

The seconds ticked away, neither of them had moved, and Brass was growing frustrated. He sighed, locking his gaze to hers while edging a little closer. He had one more card to play. "Look at her!" he almost shouted, hoping his change of tone would startle her into submission. "Look at her, Laura. Look at Sara, your daughter!"

Laura flinched. She shook her head but nevertheless forced her gaze to Sara. She barely could stand to look at her though, and her eyes immediately flicked back to the detective's.

"Grissom doesn't want you to do this," he insisted again, his voice rising in desperation. He was standing so close to her now that he could just reach out a hand and stop her. He didn't. For her sake, he wanted, needed her to let go of her own accord. "You're under a terrible amount of stress," he continued, his tone coaxing now. "Your judgement's warped by your grief. Laura, this isn't you speaking, it's the grief, your anger at what's happened, at the missed opportunity with Sara. Please, Laura, let go." He paused, smiling and holding out his hand palm up. "Let go of her; give me your hand. Come to me."

The door suddenly opened to a clanking of metal against wood, a muffled groan of pain followed by a curse, and Brass breathed a deep sigh of relief. _Here comes the cavalry,_ he thought wryly, _at long last._ Laura didn't seem to notice Grissom's arrival.

"You feel this way now because you're angry," he continued quietly, "you're hurting. But tomorrow you'll feel differently. You can't see it now, but you will. I promise you, you will." Laura's shoulders slumped forward and his gaze flicked to her hands as they loosened their grip on the tube. "Please, Laura, you've got to let her go," he said, only a breath away now.

"He's right, Laura," Grissom echoed from the door.

Her eyes flicked from Brass to Grissom. "This is what Sara wants," she told him feebly, her fight all but gone.

"Yes, it is," he conceded softly, "but I told her that I couldn't do it. That I _wouldn't_ do it. Not like this."

"But I can," she cried, a sad smile breaking through.

"Sara doesn't want you to do this," he insisted quietly. Then the penny dropped. "And neither do I." His eyes bored into hers ardently as he tried to communicate his certainty that this wasn't the way. "You were doing this for me, weren't you?"

Laura dropped her gaze to the floor.

"Laura?"

Tears streaming down her face, Laura clenched her eyes shut and nodded her head. She took a few shuddering breaths as she fought the sobs that were taking hold deep within her, before fully letting go of the tube. She reopened her eyes, eyes that were full of guilt and remorse at what she had been about to do, at what she would have done if Brass hadn't stopped her, and met Grissom's gaze dead on. She didn't see judgement or condemnation there, just a deep sadness and compassion and understanding too.

She wavered on her feet and Brass surged forward, wrapping his arms around her, supporting her weight as she broke down, crumpling down upon herself. Squatting down on his heels, he gently turned her body round and held her tight against him. He closed his eyes, his body flooding with relief and made awkward soothing sounds into her hair while she let it all out.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry," she kept repeating and it was hard to tell whether she was apologising for what she'd almost done or to Sara, for not doing it.

Brass heard Grissom wheel his way to the bed and he turned his head toward him. From his vantage point he couldn't see Sara's face at all and could only make out the top half of Grissom's but he found his friend staring at Sara with intent. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and they glistened with tears.

Brass frowned, watching with worry."Gil, you okay?" he asked. "Are you in pain?"

Grissom didn't respond; he just kept on watching Sara.

Brass loosened his hold on Laura and craned his neck to get a look at Sara, noting no change in her appearance. His frown deepened, his face pursing uncertainly. "Gil? You okay, buddy?" he repeated, once again turning toward his friend.

Grissom's eyes were clenched shut now and he was rubbing at them watched dumbly as his friend slowly reopened his eyes and once again fixed them on Sara's face. He heaved a despondent sigh at his friend's obvious anguish and sorrow and returned his attention to Laura.

"Did you see that?" Grissom exclaimed out of the blue.

The exhilaration in the CSI's voice caught Brass off guard. He whipped his head round, the sudden joyful glint in Grissom's eyes matched by the wide grin on his face. "See what?" said Brass, his face and tone unconsciously mirroring his friend's.

"Look at Sara," Grissom said with awe and wonderment.

Laura's crying ceased instantly as she and Brass straightened up to look. Nothing happened for a long while and then Sara's eyelids appeared to twitch briefly; an imperceptible flicker, the ethereal fluttering of butterfly wings stirring for the very first time.

"There! Did you see that?" Grissom asked again, his head snapping round toward Brass and Laura.

A bright smile lit up Brass's face and he nodded enthusiastically.

"It's the third time it's happened, I think," Grissom said, the euphoric optimism in his voice heart-warming. He put the brakes on the chair and clumsily pushed up to his feet. "Sara, love," he said unable to disguise the disbelief in his voice. He brought trembling fingers to her face but stopped short, suddenly too shy to touch her as they tentatively hovered over her eyes. "Sara," he tried again, his voice catching as her eyelids once again flickered slightly. "It's me, honey, Gil."

Laura shared an incredulous look with Brass and wiped her eyes. He nodded encouragingly for her to go toward Sara. "Sara?" she said hesitantly, once again choking up with emotion. She picked up her daughter's hand, mindful not to pull at the IV line, and squeezed it tightly. "Sara, it's me, mommy. Can you hear me?"

Grissom took her other hand and lifted it to his face, to his cheeks, to his lips. He closed his eyes and kissed it softly. "She's coming back to us," he whispered. He reopened his eyes and looked at Brass and Laura, unable to contain his excitement. He laughed. "She's coming back to us," he repeated, turning back to Sara. "This is our new beginning, I know it."

Brass nodded, the warm smile he returned full of hope and happiness. He wanted to rejoice, he truly did but the nagging voice at the back of his head wouldn't let up. Does a fluttering of eyelids a miracle make? "Should I go and get someone," he asked.

"How do we know it's not just a reflex?" Laura asked abruptly, apparently on the same wave length as the detective.

"A reflex is an involuntary movement in response to a stimulus," Grissom replied quickly, dismissively. "For there to be a reflex, there needs to be a stimulus. Maybe the first one could have been a reflex but…" he shook his head with confidence, "No. Sara's doing this. _She_ is doing this. I know it; I can feel it."

Laura lifted a doubtful shoulder and refocused her solemn gaze on her daughter, unable to share fully in Grissom's optimism.

"This is Sara doing a formidable U-turn," Grissom continued, talking fast, emphatically. "Maybe what you did, Laura – what you almost did – was the push she needed. But Laura, this is the Sara I know and love. This is Sara being Sara and facing up to her worst fears. She's a survivor, Laura. It just took her a little time to remember it, that's all."

His face shone with uncontained love, delight and hope. Stroking gently the back of his fingers against her cheek he bent down to speak into her ear. "Sara, sweetheart, I know you can hear me. Don't be afraid, I know you can do it. I'll be there every step of the way." He smiled and brushed a soft kiss to her temple, closing his eyes, keeping his lips onto her skin as he murmured, "Thank you. I know how hard a decision it must have been to make but I promise you it was the right one. I'm proud of you. I love you."

* * *

Tbc.

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A/N: Please, please, leave a review; share your feelings thoughts and reactions about the chapter and as always, thank you for reading. We're almost at the end of this journey.


	61. Chapter 61

A/N: Sorry I took so long to get this to you. This is the hardest, most challenging chapter I've ever written both in terms of content and form. I hope I haven't messed up but I wanted to give Sara a voice and this is it. I already know of a few who will be disappointed with the outcome and it was hard for me to come to this decision but ultimately I wrote the ending that I think I would have liked to read if someone else had written the story. Does that make sense?

I'd like to thank all my great friends for their unconditional support and words of advice and encouragement. You know who you are, and yes, I've trusted myself and followed my guts. No more tossing of coins. I'd also like to thank again everyone who's taken the time to read the story over the past year and leave reviews along the way. I hope this long, tortuous journey was worth it.

Big breath…here goes the final chapter before the epilogue.

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My name is Sara. Sara Sidle. I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a crime scene analyst, a level 2 in the San Francisco crime lab. I love my work. It's all I've got; it's everything in my life. I'm in the hospital. That much I know; I've been here before. I recognise the smell, the noises, the fear, the doom…it's all around me, stifling and oppressive. I'm in a bad way. A car crash, I wonder, an accident on the job? I simply don't remember.

Someone's crying. A woman. She's crying, sniffling loudly in my ear; a familiar sound, at once reassuring and disturbing. My mother, maybe? I'm not sure; I haven't spoken to my mother in almost fifteen years. Why would she be here? Who would have known to contact her and where to find her?

I hear lots of voices now, male and female, some quiet some loud, all talking at once. It's like when I was a kid and I put my head underwater so the sound of my parents' fighting was distorted, muffled, happening somewhere else. Doctors, nurses, cold, perfunctory, matter of fact, issuing orders, performing checks, talking at cross-purposes, talking about me as if I'm not there.

I hear other voices too, gentle, loving voices full of worry and fears. Friends, I guess, although some voices are foreign to my ears. They want to know what's happening with me. Truth is, no one knows; they don't seem to be able to agree on a diagnosis. The words reflex, life support, brain damage, miracle permeate my consciousness highlighting the stark reality of my condition.

Am I in a coma? Is that why I can hear without them knowing? Is that why I feel no pain? I'm in the dark, and in restraints. I'm trapped inside my own body. I can't move. I can't talk. I can't communicate. I can't…breathe. I can't tell them I can hear them, hear their voices talk about me as if I'm not there. I feel tears rise within me, and instinctively I blink them away.

"There! Did you see that?" exclaims a male voice I don't recognise; a voice so full of love and hope it breaks my heart. "Did you see her eyes move?"

The voices all stop at once and cold fingers lift my eyelids as a bright light is shone into my eyes. I stare back at the light expectantly, waiting for them to see I'm in here, I'm awake, but then darkness falls upon me once again. I hear the words fixed pupils, unresponsive, and my heart sinks. The word reflex is passed around the room again, yet not so convincingly anymore. Any trace of this on the EEG? I hear asked in an exasperated tone, and then, let's book her in for a PET scan, stat. I want to scream and shout, but I can't. Can they not _see_ I'm alive in here?

Every day after, I hear words of apology, words of regret, words of love. A man. An older man's voice. A quiet voice, at once loving and gentle, warm and coaxing, talking to me, reading to me from science and forensic journals, quoting me long passages from Shakespeare, telling me stories and anecdotes I expect are meant to rouse me from my slumber. My father, I wonder briefly before dismissing the idea out of hand. My father is dead; I know that for certain like I know my own name. Could my brother be here? A boyfriend maybe? I don't recall one in my life, but his words are intimate, his memories personal, his voice strangely familiar, and I can't be sure.

Day after day, I concentrate on the voice as he talks to me. On the soft, soothing lilts of his timbre. On the quiet, sure way he says my name, the way the letters roll off his tongue. Suddenly, I'm taken back to a lecture room, a lecture I attended as part of my on-going professional development a few months ago. I let my mind drift back to that day and his voice from then and now merge and make one. Is my mind playing tricks on me?

Grissom, his name was. A CSI from Vegas. Dr Gilbert Grissom. Double murder in a garage. He tapped the microphone a few times, cleared his voice nervously, opened his mouth and that was it. I was entranced, consumed by his words, his voice, hypnotised by his talk, his passion for forensics so unrivalled. I wondered what it would be like to work with him, be taught by him. There was a post-lecture question and answer session. We connected on a professional level, but I sensed in him a lonely soul, just like me. We had coffee afterwards. We exchanged numbers and he left. How can that be him here, now?

He carries on speaking unaware of the turmoil in my head. I realise from his words that we have a life together, a past, a history. I can tell from all that he leaves unsaid, all that he takes for granted in his account. He knows things about me that I never told anyone, past events I'd taken great care to hide and forget about, ghosts I buried deep inside me a long time ago.

He gives me news and messages of good wishes from home – _Home?_ – from our friends, and I hear the same names repeated over and over again, Catherine, Greg and Nick, Warrick and Brass as he inadvertently fills the blanks in my mind. He tells me about Hank, that he's okay, Catherine's looking after him and I know his words should strike a chord with me but they simply don't. I'm filled with a terrible feeling of dread. How much time have I lost? How long have I been sleeping? I don't know this man, this man I only just met at a conference, but he knows me, intimately, better than I know myself. I can tell from the sadness in his voice, in his words, that he loves me deeply, that the life we shared was one of a kind, and I just know implicitly that I loved him too.

"Don't give up on me," I beg silently. "Please, don't give up on me. I'm still here."

Time behaves oddly. Days pass in a blur. Sometimes, I hear my mother at my side, sometimes my brother or a man whom I've come to realise Grissom refers to as Jim, and my mother as Captain Brass. He seems to hold an important place in both their lives. I don't remember him at all and it pains me because I can hear in the few unguarded moments we have alone together that he cares deeply about me. As does my mother and brother despite all that happened between us, and that knowledge leaves me very uneasy.

Someone I soon recognise as Warrick visits me a few times too; his voice is quiet and warm, upbeat. He tells me he's doing good, that they're letting him go home soon. He's the only one to mention an attack and a woman called McKay, and I can't be sure whether he's talking about me or him.

For the last five days, or so say the doctors, I've slowly been waking up. It's like I'm coming out of hibernation, or a big thaw. My brain's constantly urging me to open my eyes and yet despite my best effort all is still dark. All I seem to manage is this bird-like twitching of my eyelids they call a miracle. It makes me want to scream. But every day I feel his presence, his aura, his strength and unwavering beliefs that I _will_ wake up. He has faith in me and in my body and I can't stand to let him down. I hear his soft words and I feed on his certainty and draw strength and courage from it, and like him I want to believe it's only a matter of time.

On day six, I drift into a state of consciousness as usual but it feels different. _I_ feel different. There's a dull, distant pain in the back of my head; it fills me with hope. The room is silent but for the life support whooshing quietly in my ear. Yet, I know I'm not alone; I never am. He sits here with me – always. My eyelids flutter, I can feel them, but they still won't open. My determination knows no bounds and I don't give up. I visualise my nerve endings and concentrate every single neuron on that one simple task, one basic command for my brain to process. Open your eyes. And they do, just like that, wide, unblinking, looking straight ahead at an empty darkened room through dancing black shadows.

For a long time, I wait in silence for the black shapes to fade but they don't and I'm forced to stare through them. I can't move my head. My eyes dart all around me, scared and wary, searching, and despite the chunky mouthpiece and breathing tube pumping air into my lungs further obstructing my sight, from the corner of my eyes I see him, asleep with his head resting on the edge of the bed. His hair is greyer, shorter than I remember it, the lines on his forehead more pronounced. He is unshaven, his nose swollen, brown and green with bruising, the cuts on his face healing. My eyes glide down his profile to my left hand cradled tightly against his face. Both hands are clutching it to his mouth as though he's kissing it, as though he's breathing life into me. How can I not feel that? How can I not feel his warm breaths on my skin?

Tears sting at the back of my eyes and I try to blink them back, I really do but I can't and soon I feel their warmth as they spill down my cheeks. I try to move my hand, curl the tip of my fingers toward him. I concentrate all my senses on that one single task, as I did my eyes before. I just want to reach out to him, brush my fingers against his skin, tell him I'm awake. But I can't manage it and I realise for the first time that the restraints aren't outside ones but ones imposed on me by my condition, the damage to my brain. I'm petrified. Is this the best it's going to get?

Suddenly, he lifts his head with a start. It's as if he knows. As if he felt my eyes on him. His eyes blink open and lock with mine. They fill with tears instantly. He uses his free hand to wipe them and then refocuses back onto me. I see pain and fear and incredulity in his gaze, blue eyes so clear, so pure that for a moment I lose myself in them and I think I'm okay; I'm going to be fine. He's watching me intently and he smiles a small crooked smile that warms my heart. I see relief, love and hope now and his eyes tell me not to be scared, that he's here with me, always. I believe him. His mouth opens and he says my name but makes no sound. He brings my hand to his face and kisses it, closing his eyes, releasing more tears and all I can do is stare back unblinking at the ring glinting on my finger.

He's at a loss. He doesn't know what to do. He pushes up to his feet, looks toward the door, then above my head, hesitating as if he can't quite bring himself to believe that what he is seeing is real and not a figment of his imagination, a dream. I notice the wheelchair, the pyjamas he's wearing and I look at his face. Could we have been involved in the same accident? I'm trying to remember, I really am, but my memories are hazy, patchy, they come and go, muddled, and sadly they don't include him.

"Sara," he says in a whisper at last, the small, wobbly smile spreading across his face as more tears fall, "I'm going to call for someone."

"Please don't," I plead beseechingly with my eyes. "Don't go. Don't leave me."

He pauses in his movement and studies me. His head tilts to the side, his smile turning wistful at the fear he must read in my gaze. His free hand moves to my face, cups it lovingly, a rough thumb brushing over the tear rolling down my cheek and he leans over and kisses me softly on the forehead. I feel his own tears on my skin as he thanks me over and over again. What for, I have no idea, but his lips on my skin are soothing, familiar, loved and I bask in the feeling.

"Don't cry," I implore silently. "Please, don't cry. I'm okay; I'm not in pain."

He pulls away and smiles. "Honey, it's okay," he whispers so quietly I think I'm dreaming the words; he reaches over my head. "Don't be scared. You can do this. I'm with you all the way."

Before I know it, there's a flurry of activity as the door bursts open. I flick my gaze to it and watch helplessly as doctors and nurses rush in, push him out of the way. I panic, my eyes dart around desperately, seeking his. He's there, just beyond my shoulder and he nods encouragingly at me, forcing a small smile. A light is shone in my right eye, away and back again and the same with the other eye. I blink at the discomfort, my eyes steadfastly locked to his, scared that if I break the contact he'll simply disappear. He's watching with fearful eyes, eyes that flicker between the doctors and me, and I want to reach out to him, smile my reassurance that I'm okay, I'm not in pain, they're not hurting me, but I can't.

"Sara," the doctor says loudly, suddenly, "can you hear me?"

I peel my eyes away from my husband and blink. The doctor stares at me, his gaze a mixture of incredulity and curiosity, and showing my frustration I blink again. He shakes his head back onto me, then smiles and shares a bewildered look with his colleagues. "Sara, do you know where you are?" another doctor asks.

I blink again. This little trick seems to come naturally to me and I hear his voice as he says confidently, "That's a yes." I feel his hand brush the top of my head and I'm grateful for his touch, his presence and fortitude. Instinctively I trust this man with my life, my future, my well-being.

"Good," the first doctor replies warmly, flashing a quick smile, his original stupor gone. "My name is Doctor Monroe, Sara. I'm a neurosurgeon. And you're coming back from the dead," he says, chuckling with disbelief and I can tell he really believes that. He quickly recovers. "You've had an accident and you're in the ICU in St Mary's Hospital in Reno."

I flicked puzzled eyes to Grissom but the black shadows are growing bigger, so large now that they obstruct most of what I see. He seems to read my confusion though and explains quickly, reassuringly, "We had you moved from Vegas to Reno. It's a long story."

I blink my eyes rapidly, repeatedly, indicating that that is not the answer I expected. I wait for him to understand, to explain. He just frowns, watching me with confusion.

"Sara," the doctor says, "do you remember what happened to you?"

I feel Grissom tense by my side. He removes his hand and turns away.

"Sara?" Doctor Monroe says. "Can you still hear me? Do you remember the accident?"

I refocus on the doctor but I'm getting tired and my eyes drift shut by themselves. My strength is gone, and I feel myself going back to sleep. The doctor asks me more questions but it's too much for my brain to process. I feel like I do when I haven't slept for days on end, and I can't fight the drowsiness anymore. It just takes me. I feel the tip of Grissom's fingers stroke my cheek and I hold on to that feeling for dear life. This man I've only just met is my lifeline, I know it.

Once they know I understand what they say they are very careful what they discuss in front of me but I know they're worried about brain damage, long-term and profound damage that would prevent me from leading anything resembling a normal life, an active life. Is this the best they can expect for me? my mother asks the doctors. The best they can expect _from_ me? He knows differently and so do I. I'm a survivor, I just keep on telling myself that.

It's another week until they decide it's safe to take me off the ventilator. My lungs have slowly been taking over from the machine but it takes all my body's strength and energy just to breathe and I slip in and out of consciousness without being aware of it. Then it's another two days until I wake again properly. My mind is calm, soothed by the steady beating of my heart. The room is dark and I'm alone as I lie there staring into nothingness, waiting for him to come. The door opens quietly but it's not him and a feeling of doom descends upon me. It's a nurse and she smiles and greets me warmly on seeing I'm awake.

I open my mouth to talk but no sound comes out. I try again and force his name out. It comes out as a muddled, almost inaudible grunt.

She pauses and smiles at me pleasantly but for a second I glimpse pity in her eyes. "Don't try to talk," she says, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. I look down at her hand on my shoulder but don't feel a thing. Tears of frustration fill my eyes.

"Are you in pain, love?" she asks kindly, checking the IV dripping into my arm.

I weakly shake my head in reply and close my eyes. Come on, Sara, I urge, don't get beaten. You can do better than that. I open my mouth and concentrate all my brain power on coordinating the shapes of the sounds to form his name and actually get the sound out. My heartbeat hitches with the effort it takes for me to do that simple task, my breathing becomes laboured but I manage to rasp his name out. Drained, I force my eyes open and watch the nurse expectantly.

Understanding dawns at last and she flashes me a warm smile. "The operation on Mr Grissom's legs went well," she says, and at once I'm appeased, "but he's on bed rest. Doctor's orders I'm afraid but I'm sure he'll find a way to come and see you as soon as he can. He always does," she adds, chuckling to herself. "Your mother came by earlier but you were sleeping."

I don't know how much time elapse but I next wake when I feel soft lips on mine. I feel a sudden surge of wellbeing, a rush of love in my heart, at once overwhelming and taking me by surprise. I open my eyes to him smiling tenderly at me, his eyes shining with affection and I struggle to form my mouth into the biggest smile I can manage.

"I'm sorry I was so long," he says in a barely audible whisper.

A nurse stands slightly back from him, propping him up by his elbow. He reads the questions in my eyes and shrugs his explanation, a rogue smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"They ordered me more bed rest and since you won't come to me…" he shrugs again, smiling his words off and he turns toward the nurse and nods at her. That's when I notice the bed alongside mine and I watch as she slowly settles him into it.

"It's just for now," he says quietly as the nurse imparts words of advice to him before departing. "They're discharging me tomorrow," he adds cheerfully and I swallow the lump in my throat at his news, "but Dr Monroe says that in a week I can take you back to Vegas with me, to a rehabilitation centre there." Relief washes over me and I manage a weak nod of the head in acquiescence of his words. He chuckles to himself unexpectedly but I can see tears well up in his eyes. He smiles through them and chokes out, "Together we can learn to walk again."

He brings a rough hand to his eyes and wipes at them harshly, visibly distraught by his lack of control over his emotion, and when he can't seem to curb the flow of his tears he bows his head, turning away so I don't have to see him cry. I wonder if now is the best time to tell him I don't have any recollection of my life – our life in Vegas – but I don't have the heart. So far he's been my strength and not telling him is my way of keeping him strong.

I close my eyes and visualise the words I want to say to him in my brain before forming them with my mouth. "One step at a time," I tell him in a halting, hoarse whisper, my voice sounding foreign to my ears, as I turn toward him, hoping he'll get my attempt at a joke.

He stops crying instantly, his head snapping round to mine, the smile breaking one of astonishment and I realise these are the very first words I have spoken to him since before the accident. I slowly form my mouth into what I hope is a smile and he watches me with all the tenderness in the world before bursting out laughing.

"God I've missed you, Sara," he says, holding my gaze as he reaches across for my hand. "You will never know how happy I am that you changed your mind. I love you," he tells me and I realise that it's the first time I hear those words spoken to me by a man, "I'm proud of you."

I'm feeling drowsy again and I smile weakly, closing my eyes, already drifting off to sleep wondering what he means by 'changed your mind'. I don't remember ever putting my faith in another human being like I am doing with him, now. Not since I was twelve and put into care anyway. With him I'll climb the ladder one small rung at a time, even if it takes me for ever to do it, but I will never give up trying.

In my ordeal I never once think I'm better off dead. I know it can never be like it was before but I will throw myself in my recovery as I have done with everything else in my life. I will not get beaten. I'll spend every waking moment fighting to regain some kind of movement and feeling to the rest of my body, some kind of a life and independence. I don't care about the years I've lost and if I ever get them back. My life starts now, with him. I can only hold on to the belief that one day soon I will be able to feel my hand in his hand, move my fingers toward him and love him back the way he loves me.

* * *

The End.


	62. Epilogue

Epilogue.

* * *

Grissom slowly made his way back to the house along the shore, ignoring the scratch of the pebbles beneath the soles of his bare feet. Small waves lapped up the water's edge, cool over his feet and wetting the bottoms of the cream-coloured cotton pants covering the last of the skin grafts on his legs. He didn't care. It felt good to be back here, it was a turning point in his life – in both their lives he could feel it.

The cool breeze blowing off the ocean on this late November morning was refreshing, rejuvenating; the soft crashing waves, coming and going, calm and soothing reflecting his mood. The beach was deserted but for the occasional dog walker and a few surfers up ahead waiting for the perfect wave. An occasional ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, warming the back of his head. He'd needed a break from Vegas, and so had Sara, and coming to Marina Del Rey had been the perfect solution.

Now and again he stooped down to pick up stones. He held each in his hand for a moment, discarding some, keeping others, pleased with their weight and shape, by their coolness against his palm, before he either skimmed them over the water or slipped them in his pockets for later. His father had taught him to skim when he was eight and he wanted to show Alex how to, pass on his skill to Clara's little boy as his father had done. He was glad he'd thought to ask the young woman and her family along for the long weekend. Their presence was good for Sara and for him too, and the sea air was doing the two recovering women the world of good.

He paused suddenly, turning and shielding his eyes from the light, scanning the beach for signs of his faithful companion. He chuckled to himself when he caught sight of a bounding Hank barking playfully at some poor unsuspecting small white terrier. He gave out a series of long shrill whistles, smiling when the boxer's ears pricked to attention. Hank turned and looked toward Grissom, his face drooping as he clearly debated whether to obey his master's command or not. Pursing his face in amusement, Grissom lifted the dog's battered baseball in the air, waving it about a few times before tossing it into the ocean.

Forgetting all about tormenting his quarry the boxer took off at a sprint, giving chase to the ball, only slowing down for a second on reaching the water's edge. He leaped back as a wave came crashing toward him and turning toward Grissom let out a joyful bark. To his master's laughing shout of, "Come on, buddy, go fetch!" Hank launched himself into the water toward the bobbing ball. Grissom was watching the dog's arduous progress when he heard the familiar ring of his cell. Expecting the call, he reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out his phone, bringing it to his ear without bothering to check the caller display.

"You should be sleeping," he said softly in lieu of greeting, his smiley eyes fixed on Hank as he spoke.

"I had a little paperwork to take care of," the caller replied, laughing.

A pleasurable smile spread across his face on hearing the sound of his friend's voice and he could well imagine the mountain of files waiting to be reviewed on her desk. "If you're calling asking about when I'm coming back to CSI," he began, "let me stop you right there-"

"I know," she cut in warmly, "I just spoke to Ecklie. He told me the good news." She took a breath. "Good for you, Gil. Good for you."

There was an awkward pause and Grissom pulled a face at his oversight. "I should have let you know first, I'm sorry."

"He's given me your job," she said matter of fact, dismissing his apology with a knowing chuckle.

Grissom's expression softened with affection. "Good. I told him to but with Ecklie you never know. You've been doing my job for eight months now and from what I gather from him and the others you have nothing to worry about; you're going to be fine," he told her with assurance, "Better than fine."

"I know," she replied in a whisper and he could hear the smile of pleasure his words brought upon in her voice.

"You've got the best team, Catherine; they won't let you down."

"I know," she repeated, her voice breaking. "And how are you?" she asked, clearing the tears from her throat. "_Where_ are you? Still on the west coast?"

"Still?" he chuckled, "we've only just got here!" Hank chose this moment to come out of the water and shake himself off in front of him. Grissom laughed, holding out his free hand for the ball, which Hank was more than happy to relinquish.

"It's good to hear you, Gil," Catherine was saying, "You sound…happy."

He slowly pitched the ball into the ocean while pondering her words. "I am happy," he said at last. He walked a little further to a dry sandier spot and sat down. "I'm glad I could bring her here, take her out of that place for a little while."

"How is she?"

He glanced over his shoulder toward where Sara and Izzie were playing up ahead on the beach near the house and smiled. The breeze was blowing her hair about her face, flushing her cheeks, her features lit up with excitement as she listened to the three-year-old's incessant chatter. She was holding a big red plastic spade in her left hand, her face a picture of concentration as she scooped up soft sand before painstakingly tipping it into the little girl's bucket.

"She's doing okay, Catherine," he said, his eyes firmly on Sara as he spoke. "No," he amended lovingly, "she's doing better than okay. Every day and against medical expectations she manages something new, Cath, she's…remarkable. Even now when she should be taking it easy she's doing her own brand of physiotherapy."

"Sara's always been a remarkable woman, Gil," Catherine said sincerely.

Grissom felt a surge of love course through him. "She is," he said proudly.

As though knowing she was being spoken about Sara looked up suddenly, her already wide smile growing even larger on meeting Grissom's gaze. He smiled back, enquiring with his eyes whether she was okay before lifting the cell into her eye line. Izzie pulled at Sara's sleeve and said something into her ear causing Sara to laugh and redirect her attention to the little girl.

Despite her frustrations that her progress wasn't quick enough and that her body wasn't keeping up with her mind, since being at the rehabilitation centre Sara had made incredible progress. She'd lost some sight in both eyes and now wore glasses, her speech was clearer, more fluent though, if still slow, slurred and sometimes laboured, but with intense physiotherapy and her relentless strive to get better and overcome her disabilities, over the months she had regained feelings to most of her body, as well as controlled movement to her right side. Her left side was weaker though, slower to catch up, impeding any attempts she made at standing without support and the doctors doubted she would ever be able to walk unaided. But Sara thought different and was determined to prove them wrong and the fact that with Grissom's help she was able to take a few shuffling steps was encouraging and had made this trip at all possible.

Getting lost in his musings, Grissom forgot all about Catherine at the other end of the line. His eyes clouded over suddenly and he lowered them to the ground before turning back toward Hank who was barking excitedly at a seagull floating nearby. He sighed, casting his eyes out toward the immensity of the Pacific. Emotionally, Sara wasn't doing so great. Her memory hadn't come back and she still didn't remember her former life in Vegas, her former life with him; she had issues with continence too, which compounded took their toll on the young woman. Consequently, her mood was up and down, changing from one day to the next, sometimes even from one hour to the next. And then there were the nightmares, only just recently though. He dropped his head forward between his legs and rubbed at his face tiredly.

"Gil? You still there?" Catherine's muffled voice came through to him, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Grissom let out a long breath and brought the phone back to his ear. "She's been having nightmares," he blurted out without warning, his burden suddenly too heavy to carry. "She wakes up screaming, and there's nothing I can do to make it better."

He flicked his eyes to Sara again and found her watching him a little fearfully, as though she could sense his sadness. He pushed past his pain and waved at her with a smile, watching as she slowly raised her right hand to wave back at him, her face lighting up with a proud smile when she managed to open her hand flat and splay her fingers apart fully. Grissom's ensuing grin was wide and loving and so very proud of what she had achieved in so little time. It had taken her the better part of three months of daily physiotherapy to achieve that simple gesture, and she had never once complained. He waited until Sara had returned her attention to Izzie and the sandcastle to drop the smile and turn away.

"You're there for her," Catherine said quietly.

He pinched his lips in anguish. "I think she's remembering the attack, Catherine."

There was a pause and Catherine sighed, "Maybe you ought to tell her about it."

Grissom didn't reply. He merely shook his head at Catherine's words and reached over to pick up a pebble which he carelessly tossed into the water.

"Maybe it would help her deal with her nightmares better," she continued hesitantly, "if she knew about the circumstances surrounding her attack." When again he didn't comment she called, "Gil?"

"No, absolutely not," he said at last.

Catherine sighed. "Why not?" she insisted softly. "I know that over the last eight months you've been selective about what you've told her about her old life in Vegas but you _have_ been filling the gaps in her memory – we've all been – and I think that it's time you told her-"

"I can't," he sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"It'd be better coming from you."

"No."

"I know you want to protect her and spare her the pain of knowing what happened to her, but if you're right and she's remembering…" she let her words trail off with a sigh.

Panting, Hank joined Grissom's side, dropping the dripping ball between Grissom's legs. He lay down with his snout on his master's thigh, huge droopy eyes staring up brightly at him. "I can't Catherine," Grissom said, his free hand instinctively dropping to the Boxer's head and rubbing behind his ears. "I couldn't…find the words."

Catherine wasn't having any of his sorry excuses. "Have you spoken to someone about it?"

He picked up another pebble, weighted it in the palm of his hand before discarding it and collecting another one. "No."

"Maybe you should."

"I can't."

Catherine let out a long sigh. "Gil, it would help _you_ if you talked about it with someone."

"I'm okay."

"You're not, evidently," she retorted, exasperated by his refusal to see the obvious. "Gil, you know I wouldn't want to tell you what to do, especially not with something concerning Sara but…"

"But you're going to anyway," he cut in with a resigned small laugh, grateful despite himself for his friend's unconditional support.

"Only because I care about you and you need to be told," she replied kindly, pausing to let out a small breath. "I think that you need to go past your own pain at what's happened, and do it for Sara. You know what the doctor said; her amnesia might only be temporary."

"It's been eight months, Catherine, the old Sara's gone." Grissom pinched his lips to stop them quavering and closing his eyes took in a deep breath. Catherine was right, of course, in all her points and maybe it was time he faced up to it. "You're right," he said quietly at last. "When we get back to Vegas, I'll talk to her doctors – see what they say – how much to tell her."

"Sara's strong, Gil and she trusts you. You love her, you want to protect her, that's commendable but in the long term…"

"I know. I could lose her trust."

"Well, I'm not saying that it would get that far but…yeah."

Grissom nodded his head slowly, and then more vigorously as though he'd finally come to a decision. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I did need to be told," he added, a smile twisting his lips.

Catherine's smile came through the line. "You've changed."

He let out a small chuckle. "It was long overdue."

Her tears were back. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll be back before you know it."

"I'm not so sure," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness.

Catherine's words struck a chord and he didn't comment. After assuring that he'd call again shortly and wishing each other a Happy Thanksgiving, he disconnected the call, staring at the cell for a long while before switching it off and returning it to his pocket. Heavy footsteps were heard approaching and Hank's head lifted off the crook of his thigh. Grissom was wiping the mist in his eyes when he felt a gentle hand squeeze his shoulder.

"You okay?" Clara asked, plopping herself down next to Grissom.

Grissom made brief eye contact and nodded, his gaze flicking over his shoulder to Sara, who was still engrossed in her sandcastle building with Izzie. "Sara's okay?" he asked with a worried frown.

"Stop fretting," Clara said, teasingly. "Sara's fine; she's in Izzie's good hands."

"Mmm, that's what I fear," he quipped, shaking his head in amusement.

"Laura's keeping an eye on them," Clara said with a reassuring smile. "She sent me over actually."

Grissom's frown deepened. "Laura did?"

"No. Sara."

"She did?" he exclaimed with surprise.

"Yeah. It seems she worries as much about you as you do about her."

Grissom lifted a mild shoulder in reply and resumed stroking through Hank's wet coat.

"Listen," Clara said, "I might not get another chance alone with you and-"

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he cut in before she could finish her sentence.

Clara's face pursed knowingly and she smiled at what he was doing. She followed his gaze, nodding her reply and closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath of fresh air. "I love it here," she said finally. "I really do. It's so…"

"Therapeutic?" he prompted with a smile, refocusing his gaze on the young woman.

"You're the only person I know who can get away with saying stuff like that," she said snorting with laughter. She paused and opened up a hand toward the ocean. "I was going to say vast, beautiful, peaceful and just so…you know, _wow_ but yeah," she laughed, "therapeutic works too."

"You never seen the ocean before?" he asked, the surprise evident in his tone.

Grinning, she shook her head and closed her eyes, slanting her face skyward toward the pale sun. "Nope. Never. Further west I'd been was Lake Tahoe." Her expression turned wistful. "I wish Duke could have come, you know, shared in all this but with the operation and everything he's taken too much time off work already."

"He will," he said quietly, still watching her. "Next time."

Stunned by his words, she snapped her eyes open and her head round toward him. He smiled, lifting his shoulder in a it's-no-big-deal fashion and felt an unexplainable surge of love for her. It wasn't the kind of love he felt for Sara, more he guessed at what Catherine must feel toward her daughter. Some kind of fatherly love, he figured. Pride. It was new, strange but not unpleasant, far from it.

"Gil, I wanted to thank you for this," Clara said suddenly, drawing him out of his thoughts. "This is just so…amazing. I-I can never…Thank you," she said earnestly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, "for doing this for me and the kids."

Grissom registered a look of surprise at her display of affection before his face lit up with a fond smile. "I wanted to. I wanted to do this for you and the kids. It's nothing really; my way of…" he let his words drift with a shrug and Clara nodded. "It's a big house," he said finally, clearing the emotion from his voice. "It's no trouble at all. It's nice to see it used again like that and Sara likes having the kids around. It takes her mind off…things, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Clara said lapsing into silence. Her own recovery since the heart transplant hadn't gone without difficulties. "It was the house you grew up in, right?"

He took his eyes off the ocean long enough to nod his reply. She was watching him and he smiled, shrugging. "Nothing's changed much since I was a kid really and it's been shut since my mother passed." He smiled. "And it needs a lot of work doing to it," he added with a chuckle as he returned his gaze to the ocean, watching a ship sail past in the horizon.

"If you're trying out your sales pitch for the house on me," she said, laughing, lightening the mood, "you're not doing so good."

"No," he replied, grateful for how undemanding and easy going she was, "We're keeping the house." An amused smile played round the edges of his mouth. "I…think we might want to stay here," he said at last, "Do the house up and then move in."

"Sara knows about this?" she asked, her brow arching suspiciously.

"No. Not yet. It's far too soon in her recovery for me to even mention it but…"

"A new beginning, huh?" she wondered aloud when his words faltered.

He smirked at her shrewdness. "Something like that, yeah."

"It's a good place to start again," Clara opined carefully, "and Sara's happy here."

His gaze veered toward Sara and he nodded. "She is, isn't she?" He felt Clara's stare and smiled, "What?"

"You look good," she said. "Better than the last time I saw you."

"So do you," he laughed.

"I'm doing okay," she said with a shrug. "Some days are better than others. It's not easy knowing that the only reason you're alive is because someone else died."

"Have you tried to contact your donor's family?" he asked carefully.

Clara nodded. "The transplant people said she's – she was a local woman but she had no family left so we couldn't."

Grissom nodded and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder pulled her to him. "Don't think about it," he said pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "She would have died anyway whether you got the heart or not."

Clara nodded into his shoulder and wiped a tear. "You know what's funny?" she asked out of the blue and he shook his head. "I want to take up smoking." At his shocked expression she added, "I'm not going to. I've always, _always_ loathed it and yet, my body's acting all weird on me and I'm not talking about the extra weight because of the damn pills, but…it's like my body's craving tobacco." She met his gaze, and his smile faltered a little. "I think the donor might have been a smoker. You think that's possible?"

Grissom's mask was in place and he didn't show any of the turmoil in his head. He simply shrugged his reply, asking instead, "Have you thought about joining a support group? Maybe these are normal side-effects of receiving a new organ."

"Have you?" she retorted kindly, nudging his side with her elbow, "Joined a support group, that is."

"No."

"There's your answer," she stated matter-of-fact.

He pursed his lips to the side thoughtfully. "I'm going to, though," he said sincerely.

This seemed to knock Clara sideways, but then she nodded, accepting his words at face value, her face pursing with admiration. "Oh, I brought something," she said with a start, pulling away from his embrace to rummage inside a bag at her feet. She took out a gift-wrapped packet which she held out to him a little self-consciously.

"For me?" he exclaimed with surprise.

She shrugged, meeting his gaze. "It's not much, but I wanted you to have it."

Grissom took the proffered gift with a frown. "What is it?" he asked.

"Open it and you'll know."

He smiled at her and turned the packet over in his hands a little hesitantly.

"I hope you like it," she said a little nervously.

He looked down and opened the gift with shaky hands. His eyes widened as he pulled out this season's Cubs shirt. "How did you know?" he asked, tears misting his eyes.

Clara watched him a little fearfully. "Is it okay?" she asked tentatively.

Grissom said nothing for a long time. He just stared at the trembling shirt in his hands. His tears burned in his eyes, poised, threatening to fall as he wondered whether he'd ever mentioned to Clara his passion for the cubs. Sure that he hadn't he wondered about how else she could have known. Had she asked Sara? Would Sara have known? Since the attack he hadn't watched any baseball or shown much of an interest in the sport at all and he'd certainly never told Sara about the details of what he was doing during her attack.

"Are you okay?" Clara asked again, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

He reopened his eyes, nodding, mustering a small smile. "I-I haven't watched a ball game since…since," he swallowed and brought his hand to his face, rubbing it, "since Sara was attacked and she doesn't know."

Looking confused, Clara shook her head softly. "Sara told me. She knows Gil. I asked her what I thought you'd like, you know, as a thank you gift and she said…Cubs."

Grissom swallowed the sudden knot in his throat. "She remembers?"

"I don't know," Clara smiled. "You'll have to ask her that."

He smiled blandly and nodded, letting his emotion wash over him before asking, "You like baseball?"

"Can't stand the game," she replied with a grimace and a quick shake of the head.

Hank got up and sat on his hind legs in front of Grissom, looking down toward his ball and letting out a cheerful yelp. Chuckling, Grissom picked up the ball and tossed it high toward the water, the boxer giving chase after it.

"Neither could Sara before," he replied after a long wait. "Maybe now I can get her to change her mind."

Clara chuckled. "I don't know about that," she said, "she's still the same person inside." This gave Grissom pause.

"Uncle Gil!" Alex called breathlessly before Grissom could comment. He narrowed his eyes at Clara at the term of endearment and she just shrugged pleasurably. "Look at all these," the little boy continued eagerly, shoving a bucketful of pebbles in Grissom's face, "Smooth, flat, oval-shaped, a little heavy but not too much and no bigger than the palm of my hand, like you said."

Grissom chuckled. He took the first pebble from the pile and a solemn look about his face weighted it carefully in the palm of his hand. Alex watched Grissom intently before mimicking the older man's facial expression and gesture to the letter. Clara stifled her laughter.

"Okay!" Grissom said pushing up to his feet. He glanced at Clara over his shoulder and winked. "Now," he began earnestly, "as I said before, the conditions aren't perfect as it's a little breezy and a lake is better, so it might not work but we're going to try." He paused and made eye contact with the boy to make sure he had his full attention. "I'll try not to get into the details of the physics behind the phenomenon and stop me if I do, all right?" he added, ruffling the boy's hair and ignoring Clara's snorting laughter behind his back, "but for the pebble to bounce over the water, the angle must be just right. This is best achieved by leaning towards your throwing arm to allow an unobstructed, sweeping, sidearm throwing motion. Here, watch."

Grissom fingered the pebble into the correct position, bent his legs while curving his arm and throwing the stone a little above ankle height, directly away from his body, achieving an almost perfect skim. "Not bad, but remember it took me years to learn and I've had a lot of practice." The boy nodded solemnly. "Now, your turn."

He looked over his shoulder at Sara still playing with Izzie, still doing the exercises to improve mobility to her hand and he smiled at her fortitude and strength of character. As it did every single time he watched her, his heart beat a little faster as it filled with all the love he felt for her, and every single time that rush took him back to the very first moment he saw her, across that busy lecture room where he first fell in love with her.

Sara caught his eye and smiled at him that new lopsided smile of hers and he smiled back, thanking God for what he had in his life, for the simple things, the simple pleasures like teaching a little boy to skim, playing ball with his dog or just being allowed more time with Sara. He thanked God for good health, love and happiness for the people he loved here now with him, or back home in Vegas, and for his second chance at happiness. There would always be a part of him, the selfish part, that part that loved her unconditionally, that wondered whether she was truly happy, like this, a shadow of her former self. But then she'd smile like she was doing now, reminding him that by waking up despite not wanting to Sara had once again taken her own destiny into her hands, as she always did. It was her choice to be alive and living, smiling and laughing and happy, despite it all.

And he was thankful for that too.

* * *

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates. And to everyone in the UK, I hope the weatherman's wrong! :-)

I know you probably wanted, expected more Sara in this epilogue but this story has centred on Grissom from the start and I wanted it to end that way too. I do think though that Sara's recovery and her and Grissom's rediscovery of each other is a story I'd like to tell at a later stage and I've plenty of ideas swirling round in my head, so watch this space.

Thank you for reading and if you've come this far, drop me a comment; I'd appreciate it.


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